


The Shining Beacon (Year 4)

by CocksAndClocks



Series: The Shining Beacon [4]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Ferra is more done with the both of them than usual, Gen, Language, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Mutual Pining, Ozpin is in such denial, Pining, Pre-Canon, Qrow is throwing what little subtlety he had right out the window, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, TIME TO LIGHT THE FUSE ON THIS SLOW BURN, Year 4 is Operation: Ozpin, because Qrow still swears a lot, because RT will never give it to us so we're writing it ourselves, mild Ozpin angst because reasons, rating has changed from teen to mature so please note that, some violence but it will be tagged for tw in each chapter as needed, sorry old man but you can't be that oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:11:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 110,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks
Summary: After three years at Beacon, Qrow is finally sure of what he wants in life: Ozpin. Balancing his future career as a Huntsman, his team's defects, and family squabbles, Qrow is determined to keep Ozpin by his side - and help the headmaster realize his feelings for Qrow along the way.





	1. In which Qrow begins his last year at Beacon with a very specific goal in mind

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Year 4! We are excited to get the new year started!
> 
> Some chapters will require individual tags/trigger warnings that don't apply to the story as a whole. We will be putting these at the beginning of each chapter as a warning. We also ask that all comments be spoiler-free for Volume 6 for those who may not have a First account.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with our fic for this long, and please enjoy! <3
> 
> (Because of problematic anonymous commentary, anon comments have been disabled. We apologize for the inconvenience.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: suicide mention
> 
> I told them all the ones I love  
> I'm leaving and I may not return  
> See lately I've been overcome  
> A feeling I fear has just begun  
> The pain I feel deep inside  
> That haunts us all that we will die  
> Never really knowing how it feels  
> To be alive  
> Through mountains and over seas  
> Through misery and disease  
> A spectator I played my part  
> But nothing could move this heart  
> Until I held the boy's hand  
> The little one spoke like a man  
> He showed me death and said  
> This is how you know you're alive  
> A kingfisher in flight  
> You'll rise above the sea of doubts  
> Into a world full of clouds  
> Alive  
> \- "Sea of Doubts", Azure Ray

On the first day of his final year at Beacon, Qrow Branwen strode onto campus with all the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted.

Years spent at Beacon Academy, years figuring himself out, figuring society out, questioning everything he knew about everything.

But now he knew.

He wanted Ozpin.

It was as simple as that: nothing more nor less. No more nights spent trying to shake the feelings, no more mornings waking from longing dreams.

His nights now would be spent plotting how to win Ozpin, how to make him see that their connection was not merely of a teacher and student, or even of friends, but something much deeper, something that they had built together, when neither of them were paying attention. 

By the end of the year, Qrow would make sure Ozpin was just as in love as Qrow was.

He was convinced Ozpin already was. He just needed help to see it.

Qrow’s plan was simple; after all, why complicate something so simple? He would attend every one of Ozpin’s lessons – they weren’t really lessons any more anyway, gradually morphed into an easy meeting of friends, of quiet talks and quiet laughter, of smiles Ozpin never showed anyone else.

Qrow would visit, and do more to push Ozpin’s thoughts toward romance. Qrow hadn’t considered Ozpin in a romantic light until forced; he would return the favor. The kiss from his second year played on repeat in his mind, a once tortuous moral dilemma smoothed over time into a sweet moment and missed opportunity for more.

He had to find a second chance. He’d make it himself if he had to. Small touches, gentle innuendos, lingering stares – anything to start the process of making Ozpin see him in a new light. And at the end of the year, Qrow would graduate, and he could pursue Ozpin, unfettered by his role as a student.

Simple. 

A scuffle beside him roused him from his thoughts; a first-year had tripped, wailing and clutching her ankle.

Qrow stopped, staring, eyes trailing from the girl to the broken heel of her shoe. Another girl in a Beacon uniform brushed past him, a blonde in glasses, shooting him a disapproving look for not coming to help.

Or maybe she knew.

“I can’t believe these broke!” the first-year complained, wincing. “They’re brand new.”

Brand new.

_Branded._

Qrow forced his feet to move – slowly at first, stumbling away from the girl and muttering, “Sorry,” under his breath, and then he was running across the courtyard toward his dorm, shooting a glance at the green glow coming from the top of the clocktower.

_Simple._

Suddenly, _simple_ didn’t seem so simple.

It never was with his Semblance, after all.

***

Professor Ozpin stood at his panoramic windows, below the great ticking gears, feeling his skin prickle at a sudden chill.

The first day of the academic year – something so common and yet so unique, a gathering of new souls in his classrooms, fresh youth brought in to challenge the evils of the world.

A day for optimism.

_And yet._

The day carried a weight, heavy with fate, dragged into slowness by something Ozpin could not place, a sense of longing for something not yet lost, the loss turning his office cold.

Or perhaps, he thought, pouring another cup of coffee, he was merely in one of his melancholy moods.

They came and went, like old memories almost gone, the culmination of his years playing tricks on his mind, the ghosts of those lost rediscovering places they used to fit in his life – this life or the last or the one before that, intermingling until he could not be sure of what he missed, only that he missed it terribly.

The tears came suddenly, one splashing into his mug without warning, and he blinked, surprised by the phantom emotion. He paused at the coffee machine, taking a long, shaky breath, pushing back what threatened to break loose.

The elevator pinged and Ozpin pushed the key for access without thinking.

Another deep breath, and the sadness began to recede.

He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket as Professor Agrios stepped into the office.

“Oh,” she said, her face turning concerned. “If this is a bad time, sir, I can come back.”

“No, stay, please.” Ozpin returned the handkerchief to his pocket, motioning her to sit. He resumed his seat with a long sigh. “It’s merely…”

“Memories,” she said.

_Ah, Ferra._

She chose not to know everything, claimed she didn’t want to know, but how she observed, how she cared despite not wanting to.

He would miss her.

Deeply so.

A premature thought, no doubt, but immortality came with days that moved slowly individually and then a blink and –

“I’m going to miss you,” he said aloud.

She looked at him in surprise that lasted only a moment, the expression smoothing into something softer, sadder.

“How did you know?” she asked.

It was his turn to be surprised. 

“I only meant it in the general sense,” he said.

A brief silence fell.

“You have an uncanny sense of foreseeing,” Ferra said at length. She took her scroll from her pocket, tapping at the screen.

Ozpin’s scroll trilled from the desktop, the monitors opening the file immediately.

_To: Beacon student roster_

_Sub: Scholarship opportunity_

_Now accepting applications for the position of personal assistant to the Headmaster. Required two years’ experience -_

Ozpin leaned back in his chair.

“You’re retiring,” he said.

Ferra let out a short sigh. “In two years. I think it’s time, sir.”

Ozpin nodded. “I see. Well. Congratulations on your impending retirement, Ferra. I cannot imagine anyone more deserving of it than you.”

Ferra shook her head, smiling sadly. “It’s still two years out, sir. Plenty of time to get sick of me first.”

Ozpin chuckled, feeling a hint of lightness in the joke. “As though I ever could. I know you’ve only just sent out the announcement, but I must ask: do you have someone in mind for the position?”

“I do. A second-year. Glynda Goodwitch.”

Ozpin tapped the name into computer, the girl’s records appearing above them.

_Semblance: telekinesis_

_Grades: perfect_

_Shows aptitude for teaching others; cooperates easily with her team leader -_

“Will she apply?” Ozpin asked.

“I have no doubt of it, sir.”

“Congratulations, indeed,” Ozpin said again. “I trust your decision implicitly.”

“Thank you, sir. As soon as my choice is official, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Ozpin hummed. “Ready for the first-year initiation? After all, you have so few left.”

“Let’s not get gushy yet then, sir. Let’s just enjoy flinging students off of cliffs.”

Ozpin laughed. “Very well. Goodness, it’s later than I thought. We had best get to the Great Hall.”

She followed him without a word to the elevator, both riding down in silence, a comfort between two people who had known each other for a very long time. 

He waited at the edge of the platform for the usual introduction, Ferra’s words falling into a buzz in the back of his mind. He hadn’t written a speech; but then again he rarely did, choosing instead to let the words come as they may, highlighting whatever he felt was personally important in the moment. 

The scattered applause indicated his cue, and he strode to the microphone, adjusting his glasses before regarding the young eyes that stared back.

“Welcome,” he said, “to Beacon Academy. Before your initiation tomorrow, I want each and every one of you to consider what it means to be a Huntsman.

“I do not mean it literally. Hunting Grimm – that is what a Huntsman _does._ But what does it mean to take the name of Huntsman? You are all impressively skilled at combat, and I can see the eagerness to get into the field. But action alone will not guide you in life. Your blades, your arrows, your bullets – they are meant to destroy, even in the name of protection. What will you do to create life when you are not destroying it? How will you celebrate what you save?

“You are all here to learn combat on a level beyond most of the world. But remember, when you are not wielding a weapon, to cherish the lives around you, to value yourself, to honor people from all walks of existence. Kindness is not a lesson taught here at Beacon Academy; for that, you must look inside yourselves, and truly ask: what kind of Huntsman do I want to be?”

He stepped down without a formal dismissal – Ferra would see to that. Applause followed his exit, hesitant and uncertain.

Perhaps a few of them would think on his words tonight, as they lay awake, unable to sleep before their initiation bright and early tomorrow.

Even if only one did, it would be enough.

A familiar form waited at the elevator, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, one leg propped up.

“Hey, Oz,” he said, with a crooked smile.

And Ozpin smiled back. 

“Hello, Qrow.”

Qrow pushed himself off the wall with his foot, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Pretty sentimental speech this year.”

Ozpin hummed, pressing for the elevator. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

“Thank you.”

“Bad day?” he asked.

_He knew._

He knew, but he was – shockingly – too polite not to ask first.

How much he had changed over the years; a thin, awkward boy now an adult, almost twenty-one, broad-shouldered and deep-voiced, confident in all his actions.

_When had he grown up?_

He had become an equal.

How Ozpin needed that.

“Yes,” he said at last, the word an exhale. “It’s a bad day. Better, now that you’re here.”

The crooked smile returned, Qrow stepping on the elevator first, holding the door for the headmaster.

And then, suddenly, Ozpin knew he had to tell Qrow everything.

***

The first few lives of his curse weren’t as daunting to live as Ozpin expected.

He lived, accepted those around him as inevitable losses, and died, waking – instantaneously, it seemed – in an unfamiliar body, thoughts shared by an unfamiliar mind.

He grew accustomed to the terror of his intrusion of a new mind after only a few lives, knowing which words of kindness, of comfort, to share to earn trust and, eventually, acceptance. The process was unpleasant but easily done, given that his new hosts were likeminded, eventually resigning themselves to Ozpin’s purpose, allowing their thoughts and individual souls to merge until seamless.

It was not symbiotic; he was a parasite.

Years went by, decades, centuries. Ozpin grew as a child, a man, parent and grandparent, sometimes alone and sometimes surrounded by the loved ones of a stolen life. At first, he told families of his presence; gradually, he kept it a secret from all but the mind he invaded. 

It was easier that way, even when his presence meant his body’s disappearance, leaving homes behind in confusion, ripping that connection free. Painlessly – as painlessly as it could be.

Time grew heavy.

Ozpin’s growing network spanned over continents, through generations, through the same dramatic reveal of secrets, over and over. It moved slowly – it had to, to avoid Salem’s ever-present eye.

Too slowly.

Time did not rest, and so neither did Ozpin, the years piling on.

He had just turned three hundred and thirty-two when he killed himself for the first time. It was cold, snowing, the grandfather clock in his study ticking meticulously from behind polished glass. Ozpin raised his eyes when it chimed midnight on January eighth. 

His birthday, he thought listlessly.

His _real_ birthday, if such a thing applied anymore. The birth of his soul. His current host had been born in summer, a stranger’s season. He couldn’t remember how old this body was.

As the last twilight chime echoed and died, Ozpin thought of doing the same. He was tired, a fatigue that draped over him as he rose from his chair and settled deeply in his bones, surging heavily through his blood. 

_Wouldn’t it be lovely,_ he thought, moving toward his bed, _to truly rest?_

It was a thing easily done, suicide, and he did so almost without thought, fingertips moving over apothecary bottles until they found the aged label on the amber glass.

_Conium maculatum._

Such a predictable fate, he mused, popping the cork out and tipping the bottle to his lips. 

But no less effective. The extract was bitter – expected from an alkaloid – and he felt his whole body shudder at its sudden presence. Studies suggested that the poison would render his lungs useless and he would choke on the air trapped therein; he did not expect his mind to remain so aware while it happened.

It hurt, more than he wanted but less than he deserved.

He woke inside an unfamiliar body immediately after.

Relief escaped him in all forms.

All that came to him now was guilt – guilt for abandoning his mission, his allies, his morals and his purpose, for so needlessly throwing away a life that he had taken without consent, for his sudden and irrepressible surge of selfishness that had momentarily consumed him.

He had wanted rest; all he had given himself was more work.

He sighed from his corner of this fresh mind, feeling out this new body, connecting to the flow of thoughts that surged around him, unaware of their unfortunate fate.

_I’m sorry,_ he thought, the spark of his existence a soft green light in the amber aura around him. 

_I’m so sorry._

The intruding presence now brought an alarm about, thoughts swirling in panic, in confusion, detecting the strange aura like formless guard dogs. Long ago, that reasonable panic caused Ozpin sharp anxiety; now he relaxed into it, his voice calm, soothing, running through the same platitudes and explanations, wasting no time for rest he could not find.

Salem did not rest. 

He could ask no less from himself.

***

For once, Ozpin was not anticipating Qrow’s visit with fondness; today the topic of conversation was himself. It was not a topic in which he found confidence or comfort.  
For years, Ozpin had concealed his curse from Qrow - not only Qrow, but the entire school, everyone he knew and who knew of him. These days, only Ferra Agrios knew of it. Ozpin preferred it that way, but keeping the secret could be just as dangerous as revealing it. And so Ozpin chose his friends very carefully.

But telling Qrow had been inevitable.

Qrow followed him into the office, taking a seat across as always, crossing a leg over the other, silent, waiting for Ozpin to speak first.

Ozpin sat at his desk again, lifting his mug to find it empty (when had he finished it?). Weariness, the familiar worn-down feeling of anxiety taking its toll, washed over him and he slumped against the back of his chair, eyes raising idly to the unanswered emails of the morning. 

It was as though he woke that morning and truly appreciated how very alone he was. But he respected Ferra’s decision too much to lean on her.

No, he wanted Qrow.

"I know that look," Qrow spoke softly, his gestures slow and deliberate, calming. 

Qrow always knew; Ozpin had long ago stopped hiding from him.

Ozpin must seem like an open book to the man by now.

But even Qrow couldn't anticipate -

The headmaster cleared his throat lightly, choosing not to acknowledge the comment, or to look Qrow in the eye.

"I'm glad you're here, Qrow."

A nervous tap on the glass of his desk to buy another moment - just a minute ago he was anxious for Qrow to know all; now he was anxious to speak it aloud.

"Please, sit. I have...something important to share with you," Ozpin said at length. "Something, you understand, that cannot leave this office. It isn't a matter of others not knowing this information. It's a matter of others never suspecting the information exists at all. Is that clear?"

***

Qrow's eyebrows shot up. "Oz, I'm already sitting."

The student sighed leaning forward, elbows resting against his knees as he clasped his hands as if to contain the gravity of the situation in his fists.

Whatever was troubling Ozpin was serious to say the least. By now the headmaster had to know Qrow would do whatever he asked, so why was he such a wreck?

He recognized the tension in Ozpin’s shoulders, where he carried the stress between the blades. Knots and knots of pressure. 

Ozpin' eyes finally moved upward, studying Qrow with a distracted sort of concentration.

"Ah," he said. "So you are."

"Whatever 'it' is won't exist outside this room. Outside of right now," Qrow reassured. Tried to reassure. Ozpin didn't trust just anyone, then again Qrow didn't just hand his loyalty over on a silver platter either. Words could be meaningless, but the bond between the two gave substance.

It gave Qrow the urge to touch Ozpin's shoulders, to massage the pain and anxiety away, to work down the whole of Ozpin's backside where Qrow knew he held tightest, to – 

_Focus, Qrow._

Ozpin may need a distraction, but business first - or the getting hit by a train wouldn't distract the man.

Ozpin leaned back and crossed his legs, utterly unable to remain still. He rolled his shoulders back, but no relieving pop followed. Instead, he sighed and placed his elbows back on his desk and hunched anew.

"I think," Ozpin said, his voice dropping, "that it's time I tell you about my Semblance."

Qrow didn't even blink, his focus at odds with his infamous _I-don't-give-a-shit_ composure. A nod - a prod forward deeper into the conversation - was all he offered.

The gentle action was evident enough, and yet Ozpin still hesitated. 

"You must know that this information - and the details I am about to give you - is dangerous to own. I would like to thoroughly impress that upon you. To give you the option of declining it."

His eyes had dropped again. He had to know Qrow would not refuse the information but he still offered the out.

_What other secrets could he possibly have that would cause this much pain?_

"Like hell I would." Qrow's annoyance flared, the chair groaning under the weight sinking at its back. Folded arms made his stance clear. 

_I accept everything about you._

"Out with it, old man. It's not like you don't risk your safety every day just by hanging around me, so stop stallin'."

"'Old man,'" Ozpin repeated, his smile half-absent, half genuine. "That's rather the point. I know you've wondered about my age. It's a common enough subject for school gossip. Sometimes even I forget."

Ozpin sighed again. "My Semblance allows a certain degree of immortality, Qrow. I don't die - not in the traditional sense."

Qrow froze.

_I don’t die._

Immortality.

Qrow mulled the newfound information over and over again. 

And over and over again he felt relief wash over him.

There had to be a downside, but it meant that maybe, just maybe, Qrow might not kill the man. Maybe, just maybe, he found the one person on the planet he could -

_Business first._

"So that's why you're still hot even though you act old as hell," he said flatly. 

From across the desk, Ozpin’s expression turned to shock.

The blush, endearingly pink, followed.

“Did you just call me – “

"I can see why you need to keep it a secret." 

_But what are the side effects? ___

__"You can't run Beacon forever and expect no one to notice, so something had to have changed. Physically anyway."_ _

__"I...do conceal my age on purpose, yes," Ozpin said, still pink, the words coming before his mind could catch up to Qrow's reaction. "It's not that I don't age, or that I don't die. I am very much capable of death, just as every other living thing. But while my body leaves this world, my soul seems less willing. It...seeks out another person, someone with an aura that resonates at the exact frequency of my own, and..."_ _

__Ozpin paused, searching for the words to explain the inexplicable._ _

__"We merge," he said at last. "I become part of them, and they of me. We inhabit the same body until there is no difference between who we once were. I am not merely Ozpin. I am the culmination of many souls, many minds...many bodies. They become part of me, and I…”_ _

__Ozpin hesitated. “It is not an even distribution. I remain myself, slightly edited.”_ _

__Qrow couldn't help it, no matter how hard he fought, his mind dove deep into the lake of indecencies wondering exactly what all Ozpin had experienced throughout his life._ _

__Lives._ _

___What had he done? What hadn't he done? What could he teach?_ _ _

___Stop it, Qrow. Now's not the time._ _ _

__...but even outside the bedroom, the questions were valid._ _

___What had he seen? What histories had he taken part of?_ _ _

__The nightmares. The reservations. The secrecy. It all made sense._ _

__"Are you telling me cause I'm compatible? Our souls. Am I the next one you're going to be inside?"_ _

__"I sincerely hope you are _not_ compatible," Ozpin said sharply._ _

__Another long breath, another attempt to calm his mind._ _

___Maybe this wasn’t as good a thing as I thought,_ Qrow mused silently._ _

__"It's...not a pleasant experience," Ozpin said. “What I call a Semblance is actually a curse, bestowed on me by the gods for failing to kill Salem, to watch everyone I love die while I remain on this earth alone.”_ _

__Qrow felt his throat close._ _

__He had always known Ozpin was lonely, but –_ _

__This was so much worse than he could have imagined._ _

__"It's never planned,” Ozpin continued, as though now that he had begun speaking, he could not stop. “It's always unwelcome. Invasive. I...take these people away from their lives, Qrow. They never asked to become part of me, nor live through what they must once they _are_ a part of me. Because as much as it pains me to steal their previous destinies, I will not give up my life's work. I do not have that luxury."_ _

__Ozpin shook his head once, a soft, resigned motion._ _

__"I cannot control it. I cannot predict it. I never know until I die who I will next become. Adult, child. It rarely matters. After some time, we're all the same person inside. I'm telling you this _because_ of the unpredictable nature of my Semblance. I will need someone to find me again, the next time I die. I think you are that person, Qrow."_ _

__Qrow inhaled sharply to protest, to react, to –_ _

__To something._ _

__But he couldn't. Lips sealed shut. Red eyes drifted to the gears turning beneath the glass table. Silence stretched for moments, seconds, minutes..._ _

__"I'll do it," he said._ _

__No more wishy-washy shit. Ozpin needed an answer. Qrow could analyze later. One thing he knew for certain._ _

__"I'll find you. No matter what."_ _

__Qrow knew very well why Ozpin chose him - Qrow was the headmaster's best informant, his most trusted colleague...as well as the only one that could read his mind._ _

__And by the sounds of it, that was what it was going to take to find him again._ _

__He didn’t want to think about when that might be._ _

__"Thank you," Ozpin said softly. "I don't intend on dying any time soon, but then again, I am not in the habit of dying from natural causes."_ _

__He gave a half-hearted chuckle, the sound stalled by the stricken look on Qrow's face._ _

__"I apologize. That was in poor taste."_ _

__Ozpin looked down, away from Qrow's concerned, searching eyes, at the slow ticking gears within his desk, the coffee mug devoid of coffee save for a dark, dry ring at the bottom. "Ferra prefers I don't mention these things, and so I rarely do, unless necessary. Sometimes it helps me not think of it. Sometimes it makes me think of nothing else. I did not intend to bring this up on your first day back. I am just…overwhelmed today.”_ _

__Ozpin wouldn’t look at him now, eyes turned away as though all this was something to be ashamed about, like he had a damn choice in any of it._ _

__Like he blamed himself._ _

__"Mention it if you want. It can't be easy getting murdered over and over again. You probably remember every time."_ _

__Ozpin let out a long breath, shoulders wilting._ _

__Qrow struggled with the sharp desire to embrace him._ _

__"They are my most vivid memories," Ozpin murmured._ _

__"Then we'll just have to make some better vivid ones," Qrow shrugged._ _

__"I would like that," the headmaster said, his voice almost too quiet to hear. "I would like that very much. Happy memories are always welcome. The nightmares - "_ _

__He broke off abruptly, shaking his head. "Never mind. You're...very easy to talk to, Qrow, but I think I've said all I need to say on the matter, and I've taken enough of your day away from you."_ _

__"Yeah, well... thanks for believing me. Even when I'm a shit. You stuck with me, so I'm not going anywhere. I'm here whenever you need me."_ _

__Ozpin looked away again._ _

__“That means more to me than you could ever know,” he said softly._ _

___That goes for me too, old man._ _ _

__But Qrow knew Ozpin didn’t need more platitudes. He didn’t need empty reassurances; he needed new memories._ _

__"Wanna throw some watercolor balloons out the window before I go? We could probably blame detention center if the angle is right."_ _

__"Water...color...?"_ _

__Ozpin looked up at last, blinking at Qrow. Then he laughed, almost too loudly._ _

__"Why, Mr. Branwen, are you asking your headmaster to be an accessory to a school prank?"_ _

__"Yep. Ultimate alibi," the young man grinned._ _

__"How does one make watercolor balloons?" Ozpin asked curiously._ _

__"Glad you asked," Qrow said with another flash of teeth. He rose, pulling small parcels from his back pockets: a plastic bag of unfilled water balloons, a set of children's water paints._ _

__"We'll need a sink," he said, nodding his head once toward the invisible door to the headmaster's living quarters._ _

__Without a word, Ozpin typed in the code, following the student into the hidden rooms._ _

__Qrow tried not to look to interested in what lay in the rooms beyond, the rooms he had only stepped foot in once._ _

__“You don’t mind if I…?” he asked._ _

__Ozpin offered half a smile. “As of today, I have no more secrets from you.”_ _

___No more secrets._ _ _

__The urge to kiss him was strong, almost overwhelming when Ozpin was so vulnerable and open; but Qrow only nodded, stepping into the dark room, waiting for his eyes to adjust._ _

__Instead, Ozpin followed, flicking a light switch on the wall._ _

__An apartment appeared, three stairs going down to a landing of bronze carpet and emerald walls. It was like a studio apartment, Qrow thought, eyes roving from the intricate dresser and vanity to the mismatched wardrobe, to the great green bed that stood in the middle, carved wooden posts reaching toward the glass ceiling, the gears of his office extending over where he lived as well._ _

__Beyond was a kitchenette, a small area of antique-looking appliances and a countertop. A more modern bar stood in the corner of the kitchen, crystal decanters of what Qrow already knew was good whiskey. Another door, at the back of the apartment, presumably led to a bathroom._ _

__The apartment was lined in bookshelves, old printed texts that only scholars and historians owned these days. On the shelves, the dresser, the bedside table, were small trinkets, most ticking softly, at odds with the gears overhead, like pieces of history stolen away and placed here for safekeeping._ _

__And the smell – it smelled like leather, like oiled machinery, like coffee._ _

___Like Ozpin._ _ _

__Qrow inhaled deeply, let the scent fill him._ _

__It was perfect, like Ozpin._ _

__“Welcome to my home,” the headmaster said softly. “It isn’t much, but I’ve come to make it part of myself.”_ _

__“It’s great,” Qrow said. “A little dated, but great. Like you.”_ _

__Ozpin chuckled. “Thank you for that piece of honesty,” he said. “Come now, show me how to make a colored water balloon. You can use the sink in the kitchen.”_ _

__"The best way to add color is the opposite of what you would expect," Qrow explained, lecture-like, pushing his sleeves back as he opened the paints._ _

__He demonstrated, putting red paint in a green balloon, and Ozpin pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, so serious was Qrow in the details of his prank._ _

__A smile, a laugh – anything to make Ozpin happy._ _

__"This way, they may see the balloon coming, but they'll get an extra surprise when it bursts."_ _

__Another grin that threatened to make the headmaster chuckle._ _

__"How educational," Ozpin remarked, accepting the filled balloons Qrow placed in his hands._ _

__"Come on," Qrow said, another nod of his head taking them back into the office, where Qrow carefully nudged his usual window open. "Look at 'em down there. Easy targets."_ _

__"This won't hurt them?"_ _

__"Nah, they have their aura if it hits 'em in the head. Besides," Qrow declared confidently. "They're supposed to be Huntsmen. They should see it coming."_ _

__Ozpin considered this, unable to think of a rebuttal before Qrow leaned over the tower, dropping a blue balloon. Ozpin hesitated half a second before sticking his head out, just in time to see it explode, orange splashing over a pair of students sitting on a bench outside the main hall._ _

__"Oh!" Ozpin exclaimed, half astonished, half laughing. "Excellent aim."_ _

__"Your turn," Qrow said with a grin and a wink. "Have a red one with green paint."_ _

__"I really don't think I should be encouraging this," the headmaster said, even as he began to aim, releasing it with a strange sort of innocent exhilaration._ _

__Qrow snickered, his eyes studying the expression on Ozpin's face._ _

__It was almost too much, to see that moment of joy on a face usually lined with worry._ _

__When would Ozpin let Qrow take on his worries with him?_ _

__"So," Qrow said, taking a yellow balloon, his gaze moving down and over the courtyard below. "How old are you really?"_ _

__Ozpin shot him a sharp sidelong glance._ _

__"Don't remember?"_ _

__"I remember perfectly well," the headmaster said curtly, taking a purple balloon from Qrow's hands._ _

__Qrow chuckled. "That old? Not even a hint, then? How many hundreds?”_ _

__Ozpin refused to meet his eyes, aiming the balloon. “…several,” he said._ _

___Several hundred._ _ _

__Ozpin was _several hundred_ years old._ _

__It was almost too fantastic to believe._ _

__Ozpin chucked the balloon from the tower with more force than intended._ _

__"Easy, old man. Look, we've got 'em running now. Throw them all - quick, before they can take cover."_ _

__The two pelted the courtyard, one after the other, until, panting lightly, the balloons were all gone save for one, a green one that Qrow solemnly passed to Ozpin._ _

__"Make it count," he said._ _

__Ozpin spied two figures still visible, and let the balloon drop._ _

__It wasn't until it left his fingers that he realized both were his own faculty - Professor Peach and Ferra Agrios._ _

__"Oh no," he murmured, but the balloon burst regardless of his remorse, Ferra's gold hair suddenly a bright shade of red._ _

__For a long moment, neither Qrow nor Ozpin moved, staring down at their unintended victim in silent shock._ _

__Then Qrow whistled, low appreciation. "You're in trouble," he said, and began to laugh._ _

__"This isn't funny," Ozpin said, biting his own amusement back. "Poor Ferra..."_ _

__Another moment's appreciation for the damage caused to the school, and then Ozpin pulled them both back. "She's undoubtedly going to come up directly. You should escape now."_ _

__"I always get away," Qrow said, with another wink, pulling the window open further. "Hope your poker face is good, Oz."_ _

__"The best, I assure you. And Qrow?"_ _

__The student paused at the threshold, glancing back._ _

__"Thank you."_ _

__Qrow wasn't sure if he meant the balloons or the previous discussion. Both, he guessed; both and so much more he couldn't define._ _

__Qrow offered another winning smile, and then disappeared from the window, the soft flap of wings following his escape.__

__***_ _

__Ozpin closed the window, returning to his desk and neglected work, his heart far lighter than it had been before Qrow's visit. The smile playing over his lips was unnoticed, impossible to restrain._  
_

__Things were not as bad as his overwrought mind was inclined to think._ _

__They never were, when Qrow was with him._ _

__When the elevator pinged for his attention, Ozpin let Ferra up without question, wondering if he could wipe the smile from his face by the time she reached the top of the tower._ _


	2. In which Qrow finds excuses to visit Ozpin and makes his position at Beacon clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caffeine, small talk  
> Wait out the plastic weather  
> Mmhmm, uh uh, discussing current events  
> I'll take my time  
> I'm not the forward thinker  
> You read my mind  
> Better to leave it unsaid  
> Why can't I leave it unsaid?  
> You know I talk too much  
> Honey, come put your lips on mine and shut me up  
> We could blame it all on human nature  
> Stay cool, it's just a kiss  
> Oh, why you gotta be so talkative?  
> I talk too much, we talk too much
> 
> \- "Talk Too Much", Coin
> 
> We're going out of town this weekend, so we're posting early!

Qrow spent the next week in and out of Ozpin’s office of his own volition. The beginning of the school year meant Ozpin barely slept and ate even less, unless someone was there to force him. Ferra Agrios had some new project on her hands, training a second-year named Goodwitch (the same blonde who had shot him a dirty look in the courtyard) and had even less time to play babysitter to the headmaster.

When she suggested Qrow do it, he jumped at the chance.

She gave him a vaguely suspicious look at his eagerness, but her scroll pinged anew and so she left him, too tired to determine whether he had ulterior motives.

He arrived at eight-thirty every morning – enough time to bring Ozpin a bowl of oatmeal before Qrow’s nine o’clock class. He returned at noon with a lunch tray, and again at seven with dinner. The visits were short out of necessity for Ozpin’s workload, Qrow staying just long enough to watch Ozpin absentmindedly reach for whatever Qrow had brought him, attention always on his monitors.

Sometimes at night, Qrow would fly in through the window, landing on Ozpin’s desk with a soft _caw_.

Those were the nights when Ozpin’s lights remained on too late, the old man burning himself out.

“I know why you’re here,” Ozpin said the first time Qrow appeared. “And you should be in bed. You have morning classes.”

Qrow simply _cawed_ again, ruffling his feathers indignantly.

Ozpin, pausing to regard the bird, did so with only a mildly resigned expression. “Well, it is nearly midnight…”

Qrow hopped to block out the monitors.

“All right, I concede to your demands,” Ozpin said. “But please, if you intend to extort me into bed, do the same for yourself. There is no use in both of us being worn down.”

Qrow gave the headmaster’s hand a brief nuzzle, earning a quiet chuckle.

“Good night, Qrow.”

And Qrow would wait, until Ozpin had vanished behind the hidden door, certain that he meant to stay there. It was a bittersweet sight, watching the headmaster listen to him, only to watch the door close after him.

Qrow spent most of those nights awake, staring at the dark ceiling of his dorm and listening to Taiyang snore.

_Several hundred years._

The shock of it wore off days ago, leaving Qrow with the uneasy feeling that he believed it simply because Ozpin seemed to carry a thousand years of loneliness in him. But he wasn’t lonely with Qrow; that much Ozpin had admitted out loud.

But what did that mean?

What kind of loneliness did Qrow ward off? The friendly kind? The romantic kind?

Sometimes Qrow doubted Ozpin had any sort of romantic feelings for him, their conversation friendly but nothing more; other times, Ozpin’s voice had a playful note that just _might_ be flirty, and Qrow would catch Oz looking at him in a enigmatic, unreadable way – that small, almost unnoticeable smile on his lips – and Qrow was certain that it meant _something._

Qrow sighed into his pillow. 

How many generations was “several hundred years”? Qrow had assumed there was a considerable age gap because Ozpin looked older –

No, _acted_ older. His manners seemed dated because _he_ was – at least his soul was. But his body…

He didn’t look a day over twenty-five.

_The youngest headmaster in history…_

So how old was this version of Ozpin? Ten years older? Fifteen?

That wasn’t bad, Qrow thought. It was a lot better than thinking someone old enough to be your great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather was sexy.

A lot better.

Qrow returned to the clocktower the next morning, breakfast in hand. Ozpin was already at his desk despite the hour, turning a surprised look toward his student.

“You’re early,” he remarked, eyes dropping to the pink bakery box in Qrow’s hands.

“Thought we could have breakfast together today,” Qrow said.

Ozpin hesitated, glancing at his monitors, and then back at the bakery box.

 _I know you too well, old man,_ Qrow thought smugly.

Given the choice between even urgent work and pastries, Ozpin would make the same decision every time.

“I suppose I have a few minutes,” Ozpin said. “Please, sit, have a cup of coffee. You do drink coffee now?”

“Yeah, a little. Thanks,” Qrow said, grinning as he poured himself a mug from Ozpin’s silver set.

Ozpin seized the box the moment Qrow released it, lifting the lid with an almost childish sense of anticipation, biting his bottom lip.

 _I wouldn’t mind biting those lips,_ Qrow thought.

“Oh,” Ozpin said, the word a quiet exhale. “Are these strawberry or raspberry? Never mind, I’ll take one of each.” So saying, he placed one pastry on a napkin, the other still in hand.

Qrow laughed, pleased that he brought Ozpin some form of happiness in such a long week. “Glad to help. D’you mind if I ask you something personal?”

Ozpin glanced at him, chewing. “I suppose not. I told you that I have no secrets from you anymore.”

_He could say that everyday and it would never get old._

“The sweet tooth,” Qrow said, watching with obscene interest as Ozpin licked icing from his lip. “Is that something you’ve always had?”

Ozpin chuckled, reaching for his coffee. “I confess that is new to this life,” he said. “My last host had much more refined taste. This one appears to prefer refined sugar.”

“So things like that change? Tastes and whatever?”

“To a degree,” Ozpin said. “Taste buds are different, yes. Things one might consider genetic can change with each transfer, simply because the people I…inhabit are not related by blood. But some habits become ingrained even between them, carried on with my personality.”

“The coffee,” Qrow said.

“And cigarettes,” Ozpin said offhandedly.

Qrow’s eyebrows shot up, a grin spreading on his face. Ozpin, do something rebellious like smoking?

Ozpin sipped his coffee, shaking his head. “Don’t give me that look. A long time ago, it was societally acceptable. Expected, even. Still…it took two lifetimes for me to fully shake that bad habit. I still crave one every once in a while, when I’m tired and time gets…less defined.”

The sudden, intrusive thought of Ozpin in some fancy period clothing with a cigarette at his lips was weirdly sexy.

The blue outfit Oz wore at the Historical Masquerade in particular – 

Qrow shook the daydreams from his head. “So, how old are you?”

Ozpin rolled his eyes. “I told you – “

“I mean this time. This…version of you.”

“Oh.” Ozpin sat back with his pastry. “I would have to look up the exact date, but I believe I turn thirty-two this year.”

Qrow did the math quickly. 

_Eleven years older._

That wasn’t too bad for two adults, he mused. Smaller than he expected. But that meant – 

“So how old were you when you became headmaster here?” Qrow blurted.

Ozpin finished his pastry, clearing his throat. “Eighteen,” he said.

“You were younger than half the _students – “_

“I am aware,” Ozpin interjected, reaching for another pastry. 

“I thought Agrios said she worked for you for like twenty years.”

Ozpin cleared his throat. “Not quite twenty. I’ve been headmaster here for just under fifteen years. Before – “

“She was the one who found you. This version of you.”

Ozpin bowed his head.

“Huh,” Qrow said, sipping his coffee. “So she must have watched you grow up.”

“You could say that.”

The thought of Ozpin younger, a teenager like Qrow, like his students – 

“I bet you were fucking adorable,” Qrow said, grinning.

Ozpin coughed, fidgeting in his chair. “Yes, thank you, I have only heard that several dozen times.”

“Still, you had to have hidden in the tower for a few years at first, until you didn’t look like a kid,” Qrow reasoned. He flashed a smirk at Ozpin. “So did you have to hold off on the speeches until your voice stopped cracking?”

“Qrow. Really.”

“I’m serious! Did it take long for your balls to – “

_”Qrow.”_

Qrow stopped, watching the faint blush paint Ozpin’s cheeks. 

“Sorry,” he said, not at all sorry. “It’s just – I kinda always figured you were a lot older than me, and now…”

“Understandable, but I have gone to a great deal of trouble to conceal that.”

Qrow fell silent, reaching into the box for his own breakfast. “The glasses,” he guessed.

“They do help, do they not?” Ozpin said, half-smiling as he removed them.

Qrow almost dropped the pastry, his breath catching. Ozpin removed his glasses so rarely, and now Qrow was more eager to see his face than ever before.

He didn’t look _several hundred_ years old. He didn’t even look twenty-five.

He looked _hot._

Perfect pale skin, almond eyes in that shade of brown that Qrow had come to love – a color that expressed so much so effortlessly, if one knew how to look for it. His skin looked so smooth – because he never went outside, Qrow guessed.

His lips –

Qrow already knew what his lips felt like. Soft, malleable, aching to be bitten.

He couldn’t remember exactly what Ozpin tasted like – the shock of the reveal had chased away some of the memories Qrow struggled to catch a year later.

Never mind that, though. Qrow would find out again soon enough. 

Qrow shoved his pastry in his mouth to prevent saying something incriminating out loud.

“It feels like a mask sometimes,” Ozpin said, tapping his glasses gently against the desktop. “I’m old enough to stop wearing them, but it feels…naked without them now.”

_Mask._

_Naked._

_Goddammit, Oz._

Qrow swallowed too quickly, coughing. “Yeah, well. It’s not a bad look – the distinguished professor thing. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” Ozpin said. “It’s humble, but it is me.”

“Humble, huh,” Qrow said, reaching for a distraction from the word _naked._ “What, like you were used to dressing like some fancy prince before?”

“Something like that.” Ozpin replaced his glasses.

“At least your hair helped you out,” Qrow said. “Unless the gray isn’t natural.”

Ozpin opened his mouth, but not before a thought sprung into Qrow’s head.

“Oh, wait,” Qrow said. “Never mind, you told me it was.”

“Did I?” Ozpin said, inching the bakery box closer to him.

“When you said the carpets matched the drapes.”

Ozpin dropped the pastry, scarlet blooming instantly on pale cheeks. 

_”Qrow.”_

“Did you blush this easily in past lives too?” Qrow asked, grinning at the headmaster’s flustered expression. “Because sometimes you get _really_ red.”

“Don’t you have a class to attend soon?” Ozpin said, his voice huffy.

Qrow snickered. “Sure, Oz. I’ll let you get back to work.” He rose, closing the bakery box and sliding it back into his arms.

Ozpin made a noise of surprise. “You’re…taking them with you?”

“Yeah, I promised a few to the team,” Qrow said, knowing exactly how much the headmaster wanted another. He bit back a grin, wondering if he could get Oz to beg.

_That would be sexy._

Ozpin’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Oh, all right, do share with your friends. And thank you,” he added, “for thinking of me.”

_Only all the time, Oz._

“Sure. See you at lunch?”

“I look forward to it. Oh, and Qrow – “

Qrow held the elevator open, looking back.

Ozpin hesitated for a moment. “Thank you for listening.”

“No problem. Sorry if the questions were…you know. Too much.”

“No, I don’t mind them,” Ozpin said. “In fact…it helps to talk about it. With you.”

_With you._

Two words and Qrow felt warm, the smile automatic. “Anytime, Oz.”

He released the door, leaning back against the wall, closing his eyes against the pleasant flip of his stomach that he wasn’t sure came from the quick drop of the elevator.

***

Three weeks into Qrow's fourth year, Ferra Agrios sighed in the headmaster's elevator, her young, blonde shadow standing silently behind her, making notes on her scroll. In front of them, seventeen-year-old Cam Achan slouched carelessly with his hands in his pocket, one long leg crossed over the other, tossing unruly orange hair from his eyes as though wholly unconcerned about being sent to the headmaster's office.

Ferra had many things she wanted to say, but she was silent instead, hoping that Professor Ozpin would cover it on her behalf, hoping - for once - that the headmaster's continued favoritism of Qrow Branwen would leave no space in his schedule for another pet project.

Professor Ozpin glanced up when the small party arrived in his office, rising to greet his assistant and her protégé.

"Ferra, Miss Goodwitch. Thank you for coming." The headmaster regarded the boy at length. "Mr. Achan. Please, have a seat."

The party sat, Ozpin allowing the silence to grow as he sipped his coffee, tapping the screen of his scroll idly.

"Mr. Achan," he said after a long moment. "Why don't you tell me exactly why you're here."

"I thought it was obvious enough," the student said. "Sir," he added nonchalantly. 

"Oh, it was," Ozpin said, pulling the video feed of the dining hall up on his center monitor. "I must admit, I'm curious as to how quickly you so thoroughly managed to wallpaper every inch of the dining hall in toilet paper."

The boy only smirked in response. 

"No need to look so proud," Ferra snapped, her temper flaring at the boy's insolence.

"Isn't there?" Achan asked.

"Mr. Achan, innocent, inconvenient pranks I can forgive," Ozpin said, "and I frequently do. However, I cannot abide disrespect toward faculty."

A moment's hesitation, and then –

"I'm sorry, sir. Professor Agrios."

Ferra allowed the apology to placate her - for now. At least Ozpin seemed to take the situation seriously. 

"Did you have assistance in this...demonstration, Mr. Achan? Perhaps some other members of Team TALC?"

Another defiant silence from the boy as he met Ozpin's eyes evenly. 

"I see," the headmaster said, when it became obvious the boy had no intention of answering. "Then I have no choice but to insist you alone clean up the impressive mess you created alone."

A resigned look from Mr. Achan did not instill a new desire to speak; Ferra had not expected it to. 

"And," Ozpin continued, "I think perhaps, since it's apparent that you cannot be trusted to use toilet paper for its intended use, that you be specifically limited to what you require. The sanitation staff is, as we speak, removing all toilet paper from the men's restrooms on campus. Students will soon receive an announcement regarding how to obtain their supply, and they will be instructed not to share with you, lest they also share the same fate. You will be required to see the sanitation staff directly when you require your own."

Ferra was certain she and Mr. Achan shared the same shocked expression.

"But..." the student said, vocal at last. "What if it's the middle of the night and staff isn't around?"

"An unfortunate situation," Ozpin remarked. "One that may have been avoided if the school's supply was not so carelessly wasted."

Mr. Achan fell quiet again, his former smugness gone, paler for the unorthodox punishment he now faced. 

"A week of learning how to better utilize academy supplies should be enough, I think," Ozpin said, his tone indicating the meeting drew to an end. "That will be all, Mr. Achan."

The boy nodded and rose without a word, heading back to the elevator, his demeanor all dejection. 

Ferra watched the door close on him, turning back to the headmaster when she was sure he was out of earshot. 

"Really, sir. Rationing toilet paper? How do you know his friends won't just give him theirs?"

"They very well may," Ozpin said, "but somehow I don't think Mr. Achan will soon forget the embarrassment that comes with asking. Students love to prank professors, Ferra, almost as much they enjoy pranking each other. Mr. Achan's mischievous heroics will soon be eclipsed by his begging his friends for the very materials he sought to squander."

Ferra sighed, already imagining the flood of students playing keep-away with rolls of toilet paper in the courtyard. The rest of the school would find this punishment an absolute joy. 

"Ferra, you don't seem amused by my decree."

She shrugged. "I was thinking in the elevator that Qrow Branwen is going to graduate this year, and he's already been replaced."

Ozpin chuckled. "So eager to be rid of Mr. Branwen?"

"Eager for you to go without a favorite troublemaker, sir."

"Well, Mr. Achan has only just started his career at Beacon."

"Plenty of time for you to begin to like him more as he causes more havoc."

"He does have a certain air about him," the headmaster said, his tone teasing.

"You're not allowed, sir. Not before I retire. Then it would be Glynda's problem." Ferra glanced at the young woman. "I'm sorry, my dear."

"I think I can handle misbehaving students, Professor," Glynda remarked evenly.

"And misbehaving headmasters?" Ozpin offered. "Never mind. Thank you for bringing Mr. Achan to my attention, Ferra. I'll keep a close eye on him in the future."

Ferra sighed again, letting the conversation drop. She only hoped that Glynda wouldn't wish to quit her job as soon as she had earned it.

***

Qrow Branwen waited patiently for the other occupants to leave the student alone with the headmaster before he swept down, landing transformed in his favorite chair opposite Ozpin.

For a long moment, neither spoke, the headmaster lifting his eyes from his scroll.

“Something on your mind, Qrow?” he asked, resisting the urge toward a teasing inflection. 

"You know he doesn't have what it takes to replace me, right?" Qrow countered.

The headmaster raised an eyebrow over his coffee, his smile concealed by ceramic. 

"Oh?" he asked, his tone surprised. "He may be young and inexperienced, but Ferra seems to think Mr. Achan has the potential to be just as troublesome as you were in your first year."

Ozpin had nearly dismissed Qrow's accusation; Ozpin had only bestowed dubious compliments on Cam Achan to tease Ferra - but Qrow's cocky indignation was too good an opportunity to pass. 

"And if Agrios has it her way, she won't be around long enough to judge. Leaving you." Qrow spoke evenly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the headmaster's desk. "And there is no way in hell you would use him the way you use me. Besides, I know what you like and just. How. You. _Like._ It." 

The intensity Qrow offered surprised Ozpin, the professor feeling a vague warmth rise to his face for reasons he didn't immediately understand. 

"Of course I wouldn't," Ozpin said, resisting the urge to clear his throat. "He's only a first year. I've only just begun to evaluate his potential."

"You knew mine by my first week." 

The words sounded blatant, bored, but Qrow's eyes sparked with the knowledge he was correct.

"Even without knowing my Semblance."

Qrow was overly confident; Ozpin admitted, at least to himself, that the student had every right to be. But he was not yet willing to give up teasing Qrow just yet. He sat back in his chair, cradling his mug with both hands, letting his eyes wander from Qrow's face.

"I do wonder if Mr. Achan knows how to play chess," the headmaster said absently. 

"Even if he does, he couldn't play you like I do," the student replied, complete with a smirk.

Ozpin chuckled. "And yet even you did not start out so confident or so skilled. Talent is rarely innate; _crescit eundo,_ or so the saying goes. Clever students can be taught refinement, if you have proven me nothing else."

"Too bad he isn't clever," Qrow retorted, stretching back into the chair, locking his hands behind his head. 

“No?”

"Nope. And I've never heard you complain about my talents before. You like them," he added, with a grin.

"You seem to have formed a poor impression of Mr. Achan after such a brief introduction," the headmaster remarked, choosing to ignore the comment on what Ozpin may or may not like. "I thought that like minds would attract rather than repel. Or is my office simply not large enough to accommodate anyone else alongside your ego?"

"I don't mind competition when it’s actual competition. But he'd be caught before any real fun starts and what is the point of a competition if he will rat me out to save his ass? He’s not even close to my league, so no competition. He’s boring and he has no charm. My ego isn't threatened and it certainly isn't the only big thing I bring to this office..." 

He trailed off for only a brief pause to eye the professor.

"Then again, if you encourage him, Agrios will raise hell and I can sit back and watch the fun. She won't let you protect _two_ troublemakers. Maybe I should befriend him," Qrow mused. "It might cut in to my time with you, but you won't mind because you will be free of all the distractions and can finally focus on work. I could train him in the wild around the Grimm..."

"Strange that you question Mr. Achan's loyalty to his co-conspirators, when that is precisely opposite what he impressed upon me. His teammates owe him his silence, for they were particularly involved, from what my security footage shows."

Ozpin gave Qrow an amused glance. "I also appreciate that you consider yourself so very trying of my schedule that I don't have the time to 'protect' other students. I simply choose my battles appropriately."

Qrow faltered with an annoyed side glare. "Should we cut out my discipline then? If you don't punish me, you'll have more than enough time on your hands." The joke hinted at bitterness now, Ozpin wondering if Qrow was taking this more personally than expected. 

"Oh, no, that would force my presence in faculty meetings that I have every intention of avoiding," the headmaster said. "You aren't as cruel as that, are you?"

"You insinuated I could be replaced," Qrow said, deadpan. 

Ozpin paused, regarding the serious expression on his student's face. Somehow he had gone too far in his teasing and said something that had not been taken as a joke; he suspected Qrow's graduation was not entirely being regarded by the student with the usual excitement of other future Huntsmen. 

Ozpin wondered if perhaps the headmaster himself might be the cause. 

Four years and Qrow had made friends. His team seemed to be genuinely fond of him (save for Raven, who Ozpin suspected was as fond of him as she could ever be). Yet Ozpin thought that perhaps all Qrow's time in his office made the professor a closer friend than any of his classmates. He had not fully considered how that might affect Qrow's perspective toward his graduation, and with the teasing of a replacement, Ozpin found his own words suddenly in bad taste.

"As you said, Qrow," he said, softening his tone, "you know me better than most people. Perhaps even more than Ferra. I do hope you understand that, as proud as I will be when you graduate, your absence from my office will be daily missed."

For once, Qrow was the first to avert his eyes. 

Perhaps graduating was something he had avoided thinking of this year. 

“Qrow, if I offended you – “

"You know I won't be gone forever," Qrow interrupted, jumping up abruptly from the chair. He shot Ozpin a wink. "You'll still need me for my _special_ talents.”

A talent which he demonstrated by transforming and jumping out of the clocktower.

Ozpin turned, astonished, feeling that strange, familiar blush on his cheeks that seemed to haunt him recently, whenever Qrow was near him.

***

It took less than ten seconds for Qrow to locate his target - the bright orange hair an easy target. And look at the luck - he was still getting lectured by Agrios on proper toilet paper use.

"I do hope you have learned your lesson and intend to utilize products for their intended purpose in the future, Mr. Archan," remarked the professor.

Any further lecture was cut off by the screech of the delinquent beside her.

***

Ferra was mid-lecture when it happened; she paused, certain that the irony of the situation was somehow heaven-sent.

Of course, it _was_ in a manner of speaking, the crow taking off overhead in a lazy circle, as though to observe the small chaos it had just caused.

Mr. Achan had frozen, looking down at his stained uniform jacket in nothing less than horror.

"What the _f - "_

"Language, Mr. Achan," Ferra said, pressing her lips together in a spectacularly unsuccessful attempt to hold back a smile. The laughter broke free, powerful, silent giggles that made her clutch her sides in helpless mirth.

Beside her, Glynda Goodwitch kept an impressively neutral expression. 

"Perhaps, Mr. Achan," she offered, as Ferra snickered unabashedly, "now would be a good time to clean up the dining hall. I'm sure the headmaster would approve of you using that toilet paper in this situation."

"It would be very frugal of you," Ferra said, putting a hand on Glynda's shoulder to keep herself from collapsing, tears threatening her vision.

Mr. Achan failed to appreciate the humor of the moment. 

"I may understand why Professor Ozpin likes crows so much," she said, when she was able to catch her breath, wiping at her eyes.

Glynda said nothing, merely casting a curious glance toward the sky where the bird had disappeared. 

Ferra didn't return to the headmaster's office until after lunch, happy to report the newly restored dining hall and the delightful irony of Mr. Achan's karma, as bestowed upon him by nature itself.

Ozpin listened with more than a little amusement, demonstrated by the subtle press of his lips and the sparkle in his eyes that she had learned some time ago indicated pleasure when he knew better than to show it outwardly.

"How very unfortunate for Mr. Achan," the headmaster remarked, his voice light with satisfaction despite his words. As he spoke, Ferra caught a quick movement above, a flash of black among the aged metal gears.

"Sir," she said, surprised and yet not. "Is that a crow in the rafters?" 

"Hmm?" Ozpin glanced up, noticing the bird as it stepped into view, ruffling its feathers in an almost proud manner. "Ah, yes. I've rather adopted this one."

Ferra raised an eyebrow at his matter-of-fact tone. "Adopted. You mean it lives here?"

"He comes and goes at his leisure," the headmaster said. "I could never cage one, you see, which he appreciates."

"The bird."

"Yes. I bring him popcorn from the faculty lounge, and he brings me gifts - colorful stones and beads and whatnot."

As if to demonstrate, the crow hopped from the rafters, gliding on a single flap to land on Ozpin's shoulder, the nod of his head a wordless command for the professor to lift his hand. The crow dropped a silver button onto Ozpin's palm. "I keep them all in a little trinket box in my bedroom. It's quite charming."

"You've trained it to do this?" Ferra paused, blinking at a new realization. "Sir, did you train a bird to _shit_ on a _student?"_

"Really, Ferra," Ozpin said. "Do you really think I would resort to such tactics? Mr. Achan's punishment was more than adequate to embarrass him."

He was right, of course, and yet the unconventional methods the headmaster utilized left just a shadow of doubt behind.

"He is a rather spirited animal," Ozpin continued, as the crow offered a soft, affectionate nip at the headmaster's scarf, "and I ceased trying to train him a long time ago. If he...soiled Mr. Achan's uniform, rest assured it was the result of his own will."

He spoke as if the bird was not merely an animal, which Ferra might have found odd had she not known the professor's eccentricities so well. 

This was just another in an ever-growing list.

"I'm not sure if I'm more surprised to find a wild animal living in your office," she said, "or surprised it took this long to."

Ozpin only offered an enigmatic smile, running a fingertip down the crow's back, the bird almost purring as he accepted the affection.


	3. In which Team STRQ fractures and heals, and Professor Ozpin pays a visit to Mistral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memorized your smile lines when lips divide  
> Kept alive your childlike reaction time  
> We're allowed to expire with ourselves in mind  
> So we all are growing old...
> 
> Put out the fear of silence  
> And put out the need for guidance  
> And put out your own devices  
> And don't be afraid of the cold, and...
> 
> We sing, we sing, we sing  
> We fight, we fight, we fight  
> And then we cry, we cry, we cry  
> Then we slide, we slide, we slide into the light
> 
> \- "Growing Old is Getting Old", Silversun Pickups

Summer Rose lay on her stomach on her bed, chin in hand and eyes on the textbook in front of her, the words blurring despite attempts to focus. Above her, she felt the bunk beds heave as Qrow shuffled restlessly – he had been _so_ restless lately. 

Across the room, Tai and Raven were cuddled together on the bottom bunk, speaking quietly as though they were the only ones in the room.

Summer’s stomach shifted, and she looked away quickly, looking for a distraction.

She rolled off the bed and popped up to where Qrow lay on his back with his head on one arm, the other holding his scroll, his thumb moving across the screen absently.

“Have you done Professor Port’s homework yet?” she asked.

Qrow’s red gaze moved idly toward her. “Yeah,” he said shortly.

“Really?”

He frowned at her surprised tone. “Yeah, _really.”_

“Oh, right. I forgot that Professor Ozpin is gone today.”

“He’ll be back soon,” Qrow said. “Had to finish before he did.”

Summer cocked her head, knowing there was meaning there, but not finding it. “Can you help me with mine? The reading is really confusing and I keep losing my place.”

“Sure,” Qrow said, not bothering to hide his bored tone. He sat up, squinting at the sight of Raven and Taiyang together. 

Summer waited for him to come down, but he remained in place, eyes watching his sister. 

“You know, on second thought, maybe I’ll see if Oz is back already,” Qrow said. He rolled his shoulders, slipping down from the bunk. 

“Wha – “ Summer watched in disbelief as he sauntered to the door. “But – “

“I’ll be back later,” Qrow said, nodding toward Raven and Tai. “See ya.”

Summer blinked, frozen as the door closed. Then she sighed, shoulders slumping as she returned to her homework.

Maybe if she put headphones on, she could concentrate on the assignment and not –

“It will be great! We can move to Patch and – “

“Why would I want to do that?” Raven’s voice, lowered now, was still strong enough to express all the disdain in the world. 

Summer retreated onto her bed, holding her textbook over her face in a frantic attempt not to be caught actively eavesdropping, her heartbeat ramping up.

She recognized that tone, the sound of Raven about to reestablish control over her life, at Taiyang’s expense. 

It was always at Taiyang’s expense. 

“Because it’s close to Signal Academy,” Tai answered, his optimism wilting. 

“And?”

“Where we can teach.”

Raven’s face was deadpan, her voice even worse. _“Teach.”_

“Yeah, teach. I told you I was thinking about it. You know, after graduation. Guiding the young ones through life’s great trials – “

“No.”

“And we can – what?”

“No.”

Another single syllable and Summer felt her heart break a little, picturing the distressed expression she knew Tai wore now.

“No, what?”

And still he persisted.

 _So determined,_ Summer thought dully, _to believe there was something good there._

Raven’s tone now was openly scornful. Hostile. “I’m not moving to Patch, and am definitely not going to be stuck teaching some stupid kids at some ridiculous school.”

A long silence fell, Summer holding her breath in case they suddenly remembered she was still in the room.

“Then what will we do?”

“ _I_ am going back to my tribe.”

“Your tribe?”

“I’ve been clear about that since the beginning.”

Tai made a noise of frustration. “Raven, you’re not clear about _anything._ I thought that when we got together that you’d – “

“If you made assumptions, that’s your fault.”

“You don’t have to go back – “

“I _want_ to go back.”

“I don’t believe you,” Taiyang protested. “Raven, there is a better life outside of – “

“I only came to Beacon to learn how to kill.”

Another silence fell, Summer’s eyes widening at the pages she wasn’t reading.

“…what?”

“I meant what I said. Qrow and I came here to learn how Huntsmen fight. So we can kill them for the tribe. It’s always been for the tribe, Tai.”

Silence, so terse that Summer felt choked by it, her fingers gripping the textbook with white knuckles.

“Then is that it?” Taiyang’s voice became flat, a tone Summer knew was defensive, hiding the depths of what he really felt.

“Is _what_ it?”

“Are we done?”

Now Raven made a wordless sound – one of surprise. “What are you talking about?” 

“That’s it, isn’t it? You go back to your tribe after we graduate and that’s the end.”

“I thought you’d come with me.”

Summer gasped aloud, the sound concealed when Tai snorted. A shuffle, like he had gotten up, and then – 

“If you made that assumption, then that’s your fault.”

“You know,” Raven snapped, “you’re getting quite the little attitude these days.”

“Yeah, well, maybe sometimes I remember I’m a human being and not your plaything.” Another shuffle – the sound of Tai grabbing his shoes and heading to the door. “If you think I’m going to become a Huntsman and then go with you to become…”

“Become _what?”_ Raven’s voice was ice.

“A thief and a murderer,” Taiyang shot back. “Then you’re the one making stupid assumptions.”

“Where are you going?”

_”Out.”_

The door slammed so hard that Summer dropped her book, her wide eyes meeting Raven’s dead stare.

For a long moment, Summer braced herself for the backlash. 

And then Raven sighed. “I forgot you were here.”

“I’m sorry.” Summer’s voice came out quiet, meek.

“It’s not your fault,” Raven said, almost reasonably. “It’s…I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

Summer swallowed. She could tell Raven off now, tell her all the things that buzzed in her brain for so long, that Tai deserved someone who actually listened, who treated him like more than a puppy, that Tai should be with –

“Go after him,” she said.

Raven raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Go after him,” Summer repeated, the protests in her mind screaming now, but her tongue only able to say what _friends_ should, to support both of them when they needed it, even if it made her feel –

“He’s angry,” Raven said flatly.

“Yeah, but that’s because he thinks you don’t care,” Summer said. “He just needs reassurance.”

Raven studied her hands, folded neatly in her lap. “I don’t know if I can give him that.”

“Because of your tribe?”

“Yes,” Raven said. “Because I – I have to go back.”

Summer hesitated. “But do you want to?”

Raven looked at her hands again, eyebrows knitting. 

“Raven, it’s…okay not to know.”

The other girl frowned, her expression angry. “I…I don’t know, Summer.”

Summer sighed. 

It was there, something deep inside and lost to years of neglect.

Raven’s heart was surfacing now, because of Tai.

Summer couldn’t possibly interfere with that.

“Tell him that.”

Raven turned eyes upward, her face angry and confused. “Would that help?”

“You just need to be honest with him, Raven. Because he loves you, and he only wants you to be happy.”

“I…I care for him too.”

Summer’s own heart, softened by Raven’s admission, broke cleanly with that announcement.

“Go after him,” she said again.

Raven nodded, her mind made up now, crossing the dorm in long strides, the door closing gently behind her.

Summer waited a moment, feeling the emptiness of the dorm, and then the storm in her chest became too much, and she sobbed.

***

Qrow returned to his dorm after an hour, certain of two things: that Oz wasn’t back at Beacon yet, and that he was avoiding whatever pissing match Raven and Tai got into _this_ time. He took his time returning, stopping by the kitchens and sweettalking the staff into sneaking him a soft serve ice cream (only giving him a slightly suspect look when he asked for bubblegum and pistachio swirl) before rambling back to the inevitable aftermath.

Either Tai left, or Raven left – Qrow could hardly be optimistic that they _both_ left. If Raven was still there, Qrow could ignore her entirely. Tai he could comfort with a couple of beers and let him win a few rounds of Combat Fighter until he laughed again.

Same as always.

In Qrow’s opinion – not that anyone ever asked for _that -_ Tai could do better than his twin sister. Sure, Taiyang was kinda dumb sometimes and he was way more of a lightweight than he claimed and he dressed like a middle-aged dad, but he didn’t deserve someone who used him like a punching bag.

But whatever. Not his problem.

He opened the door to silence, hesitating before pushing it completely open. 

Empty.

For once, Qrow couldn’t believe his luck.

And then he heard a quiet sniffle come from Summer’s bunk.

_Almost._

Maybe she hadn’t noticed him come in. Maybe he could sneak out before – 

Summer let out a soft wail, muffled by her pillow.

Qrow sighed.

“Hey, Shortstack. You, uh…you okay?”

Summer bolted up, her forehead connecting with the top bunk with an impressive ring.

“Oh, shit, Summer – “

“I’m okay,” she said, holding a hand to her head.

“Yeah, no offense, but you look like crap.”

“Don’t be rude,” Summer said, but a hint of humor broke through the tears clearly streaked on her face.

“Sorry. Ice cream?”

Summer took the cone automatically, sniffling. “Thanks.” 

“So you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Summer nodded slowly, taking a large bit of ice cream, her face contorting. “What _is_ this?” she asked thickly, pushing the cone back at Qrow.

“Oh, uh, sorry, Oz calls it an acquired taste,” Qrow said, chuckling. “Which means he thinks it’s terrible.”

“It _is_ terrible,” Summer said, grimacing. “But…thank you for the gesture.”

“Sure.”

Summer fell quiet, folding her hands in her lap. “Qrow, have you ever…had feelings for someone you shouldn’t?”

Qrow froze, the soft serve ice cream droplets trickling down his arm.

"Uh..."

_She couldn't know._

He cleared his throat, resisting the urge to toss his soft serve out window; he was perfectly happy zoning out and never having this conversation.

 _She couldn't know,_ he repeated until he might believe it.

"Yeah." He sighed, shoulders slumped, conceding to the inevitable, abandoning the cream to the can and sitting next to Summer. 

"Yeah. Most probably do. _De gustavus nom est dispu_ – ah... you can't control who you like." 

_Stop. Thinking. About. Ozpin._

Summer sniffled again, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Thanks. Then I guess I'm not a terrible person for it."

Qrow laughed heartily. 

" _You?_ A bad person? Summer, you have got to be the purest damn person I've ever met. Hell, you could like Tai and he'd still be the one missing out."

Summer turned wide eyes on him, still for a moment.

And then she burst into fresh tears, opening her mouth in a howl.

_Oh fuck. It's Tai._

The bed let a spectacularly prominent echo of Summer's wail as Qrow's head collided with the post, the young man wondering just how much further he could shove his foot in his mouth, or whether he should bang his head again until he was unconscious. 

"Sum...hey Pipsqueak...ah, that's not – " Qrow caught her mid dive for the bed to avoid another thunderous collision with the bed frame. As an arm secured her to his chest, the man prayed some stupid synergistic energy would sooth her.

"Hey now, it's..." 

_What the fuck do I do?_

Mindlessly, fingers weaved into Summer's hair, Qrow recalling Ozpin's methods to calm a pissed off corvid.

_Pets. Everyone likes pets._

"Wanna hear a story?"

Summer’s wails ebbed, replaced by a series of sniffles and hiccups. 

“S-story?” she said. “What k-kind of story?”

_Good fucking question._

"One about a dumb kid too impulsive for his own good. It was a long time ago, when life was different. Each day was a fight to the death. So, naturally, he was young and naive, caught up in the struggle for survival. Experienced in life's hardships, he didn't expect kindness from anyone. He knew life was a bitch and that was that.” 

_Holy shit she’s still listening._

“Then came a girl. Quiet. Kept to herself. Kinda cute. But she took a chance, however small it was to others, to talk to the kid. At first, he was certain he would scare her off. But she stayed. Stuck around even trying to get to know him a bit.”

_Maybe this story tellin’ thing isn’t so hard._

“And so the fool fell for her. First bit of kindness in his life made him lose his damned mind. He went to go ask her to a dance and found out she was terrified of him. Heard her friends saying all kinda shit. Guess she only wanted to talk to him so he'd kill her last if he ever snapped. Anyway, the kid tried to murder all her friends and – "

 _”Murder?”_ Summer pulled away from him, a horrified expression on her tear-stained face. “Qrow, what the hell kind of story is that?!”

_Whoops._

“A bad one? Different story, got it.”

Summer laughed, wiping at her eyes. “Do you have one that doesn’t have, you know…murder in it?”

Qrow mulled the possibilities, gentle fingers stroking Summer’s hair as he thought. “The boy learned his lesson at the hand of a wise old man who took him in, sheltered him, taught him right from wrong… more wrong anyway. He spent the thing most precious to him, time, to fix the kid.”

_Happy thoughts, happy thoughts._

“Slowly, it worked. The kid grew. Stopped trying to murder everyone. He grew as a person. Even a functioning one, thanks to that old man. So the boy who’d lost hope, fell again; more fiercely than before. He found someone that not only made him stronger, but a better person. Someone who took the time to understand him. Someone who might love him in return…

Summer had stopped crying now, listening to him with half-closed eyes, settling against him.

“But. It’s still someone he can’t have. And that’s okay. The kid’s gonna stay in the old man’s life and the old man’s gonna stay in his. They better each other, complete each other, they _need_ each other. To give the other someone to trust, someone to lean on, someone to…”

Qrow coughed. He had said too much, to the one person who would read between the lines. He cleared his throat, giving Summer a quick squeeze.

_What the fuck did I say about thinking about Ozpin? Don’t. Do. It. Damn it._

“I’m rambling. Long story short, like you, they’re gonna be just fine being happy by each other’s sides, even if it isn’t romantically. Got it, Shortstack?”

Summer sniffled, but no tears followed. “That’s a good story,” she said. “Even if they aren’t _together,_ they’re still together. I guess that’s okay. I’d like to be a good friend, even if he doesn’t see me as more.”

Another sniff, and a short sigh.

“Thanks, Qrow. You know…maybe you’re not as bad at this as I thought.”

“Are you kidding? Yeah, well…don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.” 

Summer laughed again. “Sure. Don’t worry, I won’t. And maybe…don’t tell Taiyang that I…”

“Don’t like stories with attempted murder?”

Summer leaned back against him, smiling. “Yeah. Thanks, Qrow. By the way…the kid in your story? Was that…about you?”

_Shit._

Qrow snorted, shaking his head.

Summer hummed, closing her eyes against the feel of his fingers in her hair. “Not you. Got it. And the old man…isn’t…?”

_Fuck._

“Any of your business,” Qrow said abruptly.

Summer laughed softly. “All right, message received. Thanks, Qrow. I’m already feeling better. You can go, if you want. See if Professor Ozpin is back yet.”

“Yeah. And remember, there’re plenty of great guys out there. After all I’m single, you know. Doesn’t get any better than that.”

Summer burst into laughter, her body shaking against Qrow’s. “You – “ She broke off the sentence to snort violently. 

“C’mon, Summer. That’s just hurtful.”

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding at all sorry. “Thanks for the laugh, though. I needed that.”

“Tch. Even if it’s at my expense, huh?”

“Especially,” Summer said, sitting up as Qrow wriggled to his feet. 

“Glad I could help,” Qrow said, running a hand through his hair. “You really don’t mind if I…?”

“No, go. I’ll be fine.” Summer curled her legs under her, giving him a smile.

“All right. I’ll see you then.”

Summer nodded as he turned to the door. 

“Oh, and Qrow?”

He paused, glancing back at her.

“I hope your story has a happy ending,” she said.

Qrow gave her a long look. 

_Did she know?_

“Yeah,” he said. “Yours too.”

***

Professor Ozpin sat in the leather and mahogany office of Professor Lionheart, a sage green teacup in hand, one leg crossed casually over the other. It was a pleasant room, the headmaster’s desk hugged by warm, polished walls, old books stacked on small reading tables, giving the air a comfortable scent of times long past, when technology still slept. It was soft, warm – not unlike the headmaster himself.

Leonardo Lionheart had kind eyes, Ozpin thought, even as he kept them downcast on his folded hands, his tea almost untouched.

“I apologize for the lateness of this visit,” Ozpin said, when it seemed he must break the continuing silence, “as well as the information I have given you. I’m afraid that my presence comes always with conflict, and my constant apologies for it.”

“It is a lot to consider,” Lionheart said at last, lifting his gaze. “And a lot to…believe.”

“I’m sorry, Leo. Being headmaster of Haven Academy comes with more than enough troubles without my adding to them.”

Lionheart nodded slowly, his eyes unfocused. “Magic, wizards…immortality. It’s like a fairy tale.”

“Not one, sadly, that comes with a happy ending. That we must write ourselves.”

Lionheart drew a long breath, at last recalling the teacup beside him. “I owe you for granting me this position,” he said, “and what you’re asking now is…”

Ozpin sighed internally. 

He was asking for Lionheart to keep secrets. Ozpin’s secrets. Secrets of the old gods, the old world, a time that he did not owe his life to.

The weight of time, of life.

Of death.

And yet there was no other way. Ozpin needed him.

“I’ll do it,” Lionheart said.

And Ozpin flinched.

Lionheart blinked at him, catching the expression.

“Did you want another answer?”

Ozpin swallowed, his throat tight, lifting the teacup to his lips. “No,” he said. “But I expected another.”

Lionheart’s countenance softened. “Surely you have many friends who have told you the same.”

“Allies, yes. Friends…” Ozpin finished his tea and replaced it on the saucer, clearing his throat. “I ask too much of people to have friends. We ally ourselves to protect humanity, and I can only do that if humanity in turn opens its mind. Your work here, Leo, allowing Faunus into your school, promoting acceptance between the races – you are invaluable to me.”

Lionheart offered a faint smile. “You’re too kind.”

“It is the least I can do. I admit our first introductions were distasteful to me, and I want to emphasize how much I appreciate your work, for me and for Mistral.”

“It’s all forgiven and forgotten, Ozpin. We all become educators for the same reason, don’t we?”

Ozpin offered a false smile.

_Do we?_

“You have all the information you will need in the files I gave you,” Ozpin said, nodding toward Lionheart’s scroll. “At the moment, you may contact my deputy headmistress, Ferra Agrios, if I am not immediately available. She will be retiring soon, but I will update you on her replacement as soon as I confirm the appointment.”

“I understand.”

“Similar information is given for Vacuo. Atlas…has shown resistance in the past, but I am working with the Council to replace their headmaster in the next five years.”

“I see.”

“Councilman Ironwood’s son, James, graduated last year with distinction. He is teaching for the first time this year, but it is clear he has the potential to be a great leader. I doubt it will take long to convince the rest of the Council. As for myself…should the worst happen, I have an agent at Beacon who will contact you with the information regarding my reincarnation.” 

“You have this all…very organized,” Lionheart said.

“I work very hard to ensure that is the case.”

“Then I hope I will only make the job easier,” Lionheart said.

“I cannot thank you enough, Leo. I have taken enough of your time, so I will make my excuses now. If there is ever anything I can do for Mistral or your school, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Lionheart stood, offering his hand. “Of course. Thank you for taking the time to visit personally. And for the very handsome tea set.”

Ozpin took his hand, glancing down at the pot, the familiar shade of green. “It was once very precious to me. I have no doubt you will treat it well.”

“Of course. Oh, and Ozpin?”

Ozpin paused, his hand on the door. “Yes?”

“That student you asked me to protect – Miss Read? I am happy to announce that she is fully out as Faunus, and doing remarkably well. She will graduate with honors at this rate.”

The name brought a strangeness with it, something familiar and yet foreign – something vaguely unwelcome. The memories of Calico Read in his office, dancing with Qrow at Beacon, resurfaced with an unsolicited and surprising aversion, and before he could stop the thoughts, Ozpin was distinctly _pleased_ that she was no longer in Qrow’s life, because then –

“I am happy to hear that,” Ozpin said aloud, and left before Lionheart could question the falseness of his response.

It felt as though Ozpin had held his breath since leaving Beacon Academy, and that breathlessness persisted until the airship landed, and his feet were once more on familiar ground. He took a deep breath of Vale air, of the fresh scents of grass and the faintly chlorinated water of the courtyard fountain, the sounds of student laughter echoing along the columns that reached toward the soft green glow of the clock tower.

 _Home,_ he thought absently, and reached into his coat as his scroll trilled, a message appearing. 

“Welcome back. Chess?”

Ozpin smiled, fingers moving across the screen.

“I would love to.”

He replaced the device in his pocket and scrolled toward the tower, taking another long, welcome breath.

_Home._


	4. In which Ozpin miscalculates, and Qrow pays the price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When all the Kings men  
> And all their horses  
> Can't find a way to  
> A way to save you  
> When all the day's end  
> Remember me then  
> It's not too late to   
> Too late to save you
> 
> I've been chasin' windmills for as long as I have been  
> Found my Dulcinea but I don't remember when  
> Still I will be your hero when that love comes to an end  
> Somehow you lost your wonder in your quest to feel alive  
> Slayed your hope but didn't let yourself know it had died
> 
> \- "All the King's Men", The Rigs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note this chapter has a trigger warning for brief violence.

One month into Qrow’s last year at Beacon, he realized that being Ozpin’s white queen didn’t come without its bitter consequences. He sat with one arm over the ticking glass desktop of Ozpin’s desk, taking a swallow from his flask, weighing the information Ozpin had just given him.

“A meeting, eh?” he said. “Sounds boring.”

From across the desk, Ozpin smiled. “I sincerely hope it will be.”

“So why d’you need me here?”

“Just in case things don’t go as expected.”

Qrow narrowed his eyes. He knew that tone.

“You mean in case they go exactly like you expect.”

Ozpin shrugged, leaning back into his chair. “If that’s how you prefer to see it.”

_“Oz.”_

Ozpin relented, leaning back across the desk. “Qrow, I have arranged this meeting with the complete expectation that the man I’m about to meet means me serious harm.”

Qrow bristled, rising halfway out of his chair. 

“So why meet him at all? Let me – “

“Qrow.”

Qrow cut off his protests, sinking back into his chair, a sick feeling in his gut.

_Means me serious harm._

Immortal or not, the thought was nauseating. 

_Someone wants to hurt Ozpin? Over my dead fucking body._

“I doubt anything will come of the initial meeting. We will be…feeling out one another.”

Qrow growled. “I don’t like it.”

“I know,” Ozpin said heavily, “and I am sorry to ask it of you.”

“Don’t be. I’ll do it. I’ll protect you.”

“I know you will,” Ozpin said, his voice soft, gentle. “But if the worst should happen – “

Qrow’s gut twisted. “It won’t.”

“Qrow. Just…in case.”

Qrow licked dry lips. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“If the worst should happen,” Ozpin said, “get Ferra to safety. When I reincarnate – “

_”Oz.”_

“Please,” Ozpin said, his voice pleading. 

Qrow sat back with a low whine. 

The thought of Oz dying made him want to puke.

“There’s a tavern in Mistral. I’ve sent you the coordinates. That’s where I’ll find you. Afterward. Professor Lionheart, the headmaster of Haven, is an ally. He will expect you.”

Qrow swallowed hard, reaching for his scroll. “All right,” he said, steadying his voice. “It’s not near the Academy, is it? Pretty sure I’m still banned there,” he added dryly.

“I’m sorry to ask this of you,” Ozpin said, his voice falling to almost a whisper.

“Don’t be,” Qrow said, looking back up. “I’d do anything for you, Oz.”

The headmaster’s face changed with those words, a subtle change.

_Sadness._

“I’m sorry,” Ozpin said again.

***

Professor Agrios held the elevator doors for the young Professor Bane Scheele, who hurriedly joined her in the enclosed space, looking pale. He faced the doors as they closed, fidgeting with his sleeves and smoothing his hair in a flurry of nerves.

"Bit anxious, are we?" Professor Agrios said.

"A bit," the young man said, with a shaky smile. 

_Young people,_ she mused, watching him twitch. _So high-strung._

"Relax," Ferra said, pushing the button for the top floor. "You're already hired."

She heard the swivel of the camera, the overhead light turning green.

"Yes," Scheele said quickly, "and I thank you for that. Truly. But, ah..."

"It's just an introductory meeting with the headmaster," Ferra said, rolling her eyes at the professor's enthusiasm. "As my eventual replacement, you'll soon learn to rue his name. And his half-assed excuses for missing meetings."

"Oh, I doubt that!" Scheele exclaimed. "I do so doubt that! Professor Ozpin is something of a legend. Quite the reputation, yes."

"Hmmph," Professor Agrios said, watching the floors change above the elevator doors. "If you say so."

"He was a terribly impressive Huntsman, wasn't he? So very inspirational for him to have gone into teaching."

"Oh, he's going to love you," Ferra muttered. "You needn't fawn over him. He already gave you the job. Said he liked your coat."

"My coat?" Scheele glanced down at the forest green garment, beaming. "It is nice, isn't it? Green was always my color. Well. It comes with the name, doesn't it?" He laughed, brief and nervous.

Professor Agrios tried not to sigh aloud, exhausted by the man's energy.

The young professor straightened his clothes over and again as the elevator dinged at the topmost floor.

Professor Ozpin was waiting at his desk, the room quiet and ticking as always, the full coffee set arranged on the glass top, two chairs awaiting his guests.

He rose at their entrance, offering a hand to the new hire.

"Professor Scheele," Ozpin said with an easy smile. "A pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine, sir, all mine!" the young man exclaimed, shaking Ozpin's hand just a touch too violently, the headmaster's glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

"Ah, yes, thank you," Ozpin said, extracting his hand at last, pushing his glasses back into place as he resumed his seat. He motioned for Agrios and Scheele to do the same. 

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Oh, do allow me," Professor Scheele said, rising again, having scarcely sat at all. 

From across the desk, Ozpin gave Ferra a look of amusement. She rolled her eyes in return. 

"Thank you, Professor Scheele," Ozpin said. "How very kind."

"Oh, not a problem, not a problem!" the young man said, pouring three mugs. "Sugar and cream?"

"Splash of cream," Ferra said. 

"Black, if you please," Ozpin said.

"Of course, of course. I always take a bit of sugar myself. Bad habit, really. Puts me right to sleep, too much sugar."

Another amused glance from the headmaster, as if implying he wasn't sure Scheele slept at all. 

Ferra gave an exaggerated shrug. She wasn't thrilled with the hire of the enthusiastic Professor Scheele. She had wanted to wait another few years for her favorite student, Glynda Goodwitch, to graduate and be trained in her place. 

But Ozpin had insisted on this man.

For _some_ reason.

She wrinkled her nose as Professor Scheele passed around the coffee mugs, spilling a few errant drops on the glass desktop. 

"Oh dear, oh dear," Scheele said, reaching for a green handkerchief to mop up the spill. 

"It's no matter," Ozpin said gently. "Please, have a seat. Tell me, Professor Scheele, how are you finding Beacon so far? I hope the transition has been easy on you."

"Oh, yes, quite easy, yes. Professor Agrios has been most kind to me, most kind. I am very looking forward to starting here full time."

"Excellent," Ozpin said, sipping his coffee. "And Ferra, you never told me you could be kind." 

He chuckled to himself; she shot him an unimpressed expression.

_Smug bastard._ She hadn’t extended anything beyond professional courtesy to Scheele, but the man was determined to find a silver lining around absolutely everything.

"Oh, ha! Yes, well. Professor Agrios may be quite stern with students - and perhaps even yourself, sir - but she has been nothing short of welcoming. I only hope to eventually do some justice to her role, once she leaves Beacon."

"A sad day that will be, too," the headmaster remarked, only half-jokingly. "She has been invaluable to me these years. I'm certain I won't survive long without her. But she has more than earned her retirement, and many years of fruitful relaxation."

"Thank you, sir," Ferra murmured into her mug, knowing Ozpin meant the compliment, remembering, however briefly, why she enjoyed working for him.

Ozpin only smiled his secretive smile, quickly obscured by his mug. "Ferra, does the coffee taste more bitter than usual?"

She sipped her own, tasting only the headmaster's usual blend. "No, sir. The same as always."

Ozpin hummed briefly, inspecting the contents of his mug.

"Can I offer you some sugar, sir?" Scheele asked quickly. "Some cream?"

"No, I'm a little too stuck in my ways, bitterness and all," Ozpin said, giving Ferra another secret look, his eyes smiling. "So, Professor Scheele, has Ferra given you the overview of duties you'll be expected to perform?"

"Yes sir, yes sir."

"And yet you still accepted the position."

"Of course!" Scheele exclaimed, not recognizing the subtleties of the headmaster's humor. "Beacon, sir, has been a dream career of mine for so long!"

"I'm flattered," Ozpin said. 

Ferra raised an eyebrow when the headmaster glanced at his coffee mug again.

"Sir?" she asked.

Ozpin caught her concerned look and dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Your resume says you worked as an instructor in Atlas for a few years. You'll find Beacon much different from the military academies there."

"Yes sir. A change I should be most happy to make."

Ozpin paused before answering, clearing his throat lightly. "Happy to hear that. At times Beacon has been called...unconventional." Another clearing of his throat, this time more uncomfortable. "I endeavor to keep the teaching methods here effective, regardless of their perceived social acceptability."

"Sir, are you all right?" Ferra asked.

"Fine," Ozpin said with another dismissive wave, but Professor Agrios thought he had turned a shade paler than usual, his playful mood rapidly diminishing in place of the soft lines of furrowed brows. He lifted his mug to his lips once more but paused just a breath away. 

Suddenly his expression changed, almost imperceptibly. 

"Ferra," he said softly. "How is your coffee?"

"My...? It's fine. It's as it always is."

"I see," Ozpin said. "And yours, Professor Scheele?"

"No complaints, sir, none at all."

"Good, good," the headmaster said, and his tone - so faintly altered - raised every part of Ferra's attention.

_Something was wrong._

"Sir."

"Ferra, if you would be so kind, I think I may require your assistance to the infirmary."

Never before had the stubborn old man ever asked for such a thing.

_Something was very wrong._

She was on her feet without thinking, her eyes darting over Ozpin's face for signs of distress. Damn the man's talent at concealing his thoughts. He was pale and tight-lipped; she could make no further conclusions.

She circled the desk, catching him as he rose and just as quickly fell.

"His Semblance," he murmured in her ear, grasping at her outstretched arms.

"Sir!"

"Don't let him touch you," the headmaster said again, forcing some urgency into his fading voice.

"Who - ?" Ferra glanced back at Professor Scheele for assistance, Ozpin rapidly losing consciousness against her, her legs sliding toward the floor under his weight.

_Damn the man. Why did he have to be ten feet tall?_

From the opposite side of the desk, Professor Scheele watched the headmaster collapse with unconcealed delight. 

Ferra felt her blood turn to ice. "What have you done?"

***

Qrow descended from the rafters with lightning speed, transforming to his human form before he landed on the ground - movement so fast, he could not be seen.

The strike was swift from behind. Impaled just below the ribs; the slice was clean.

Blood stained the ground, a growing blanket, and yet it wasn't enough. 

_No one could suffer enough for the attempt on Ozpin's life._

Vengeance twisted the sword in the attacker's side, a cry of agony escaping bloodied lips. Qrow released his grip on the weapon's handle, his other arm securing the villain tightly against Qrow's chest as he wiped the blood from the assassin's lips.

Talons tore their way from throat across the cheek, until final release out the mouth caused a fine spray of the dark liquid to paint both attackers.

Qrow held the pitiful creature to his chest, inhaling deeply the scent of looming death. 

So nauseating, yet so comforting. 

It was like his tribe.

_Home._

Another flash of the crimson eyes, another quick flick of the wrist, the sword blade extended to a scythe.

_No._

_That wasn’t home._

_Not anymore._

Qrow allowed the torso he held so dear to slip from his hands in clean separation from its lower half.

_Ozpin was home now._

***

The fight was over before it truly began; Professor Agrios, kneeling on the floor of the headmaster's office, Ozpin himself limp over her legs, looked up at the blur of black and red, the flash of a weapon.

Her Semblance activated instantly about her, the force field of gravity a halo of protection around her and Ozpin, the shift causing the very air to fluctuate, the gold glimmer of her powers radiating gently about her. Through the soft light and undulating air, she watched Qrow Branwen's attacks, his sword blade already saturated with blood. At once Ferra was relieved, shocked, aghast at the student's presence, her mouth unable to form words until Qrow had very nearly _dissected the man –_

_"Branwen!"_

Her voice worked at last, but it hardly mattered. The office was a bloodbath, Ozpin's would-be assassin surgically decimated. She felt her stomach turn at the sight of it, at the blood-soaked uniform of the trembling student. "For the love of - "

She dropped the force field, the shimmer of her aura vanishing with the absence of a threat. "Are you _quite_ done now?"

She neither expected nor received an answer; she ignored the student entirely, refocusing her Semblance on the headmaster, lifting Ozpin's gravity until he rose gently above the floor. She cared about little else beyond getting the man to the medical wing downstairs. Another long breath and nudge of her Semblance and the elevator rose, shooting up from floors below. 

"With me, Branwen," she commanded, rising as the elevator doors opened. "Don't touch a thing. Every part of you is contaminated."

She heard nothing but silence from the student. 

Qrow left bloodied footprints on the floor of the elevator; Ferra studied his awful appearance but was convinced he seemed uninjured. Nevertheless, she could not be sure. She sighed with the movement of the elevator, pushed gently to faster speeds without the inconvenience of its own gravity, her stomach dropping unpleasantly with the force. 

In the quiet of the elevator, she examined the headmaster's floating form, estimating the counts of his increasingly labored breathing. Adrenaline and focus on her Semblance had thus kept panic and concern at bay; now in the elevator, she allowed a few thoughts of alarm to pass through her. She pushed them away impatiently, Ozpin's body shuddering as she lost a moment's concentration.

"Branwen," she said, her voice hard, "when you're questioned about this, this is what you will say: you were sent to Ozpin's office for some minor infraction. You saw nothing. You did nothing. Everything happened too fast. When it became evident Professor Scheele poisoned the headmaster, I fought him. I killed him. I will take care of everything else. You will not speak a word of this to anyone unless asked under official investigation. Officially, this never happened."

She looked at him at last, daring him to object. 

A curt half nod was all she received.

***

The student watched with unwavering concentration as the medics poked and prodded Ozpin.

 _He will live._

Qrow was certain of it. He had to. There was no other option.

Adrenaline had pushed the student this far, and he wasn't about to let go yet. The medical team suited up, afraid to approach the blood-soaked man. 

_What had happened? Whose blood was this? What happened to the headmaster?_

The questions were so predictable - but the fear was evident. Whether it was of Qrow himself or the blood coating his body, he was unsure.

Ozpin was settled at last. Stable, or so they claimed, yet they wouldn’t let Qrow see him.

And now the medical staff's attention turned to Qrow. For once he did not protest. He did not fight. The relief of hearing their reassurances about Ozpin allowed the adrenaline to slip from the young man.

Qrow's heart blipped frantically out of pace with the calm medical equipment. 

His Aura. That must be why he was so tired.

And then the room went black.

***

Ozpin woke to the soft beeping of electronics and the harsh, fluorescent lights used nowhere else but hospitals. He closed his eyes again, reorienting himself to his unexpected surroundings.

At first, everything was pain – a deep throbbing that permeated through skin, muscle, bone itself. Despite closed eyes, the room seemed to sway ungently, a ripple of nausea churning in his stomach. 

_Oh. Being awake is unpleasant._

But still.

He hadn’t died, vaguely aware that this pain was familiar to the same body that had suffered it before he lost consciousness. 

He took a long, aching breath, reorienting himself.

The light scent of Ferra Agrios' perfume amidst the sterile medical cleansers. 

Stiff sheets on his skin, the touch of curiously crunchy fabric against his skin - a hospital gown. 

"I do hope you didn't have them cut my clothes off," he murmured. "That was my favorite suit."

The sound of a chair being pushed back hurriedly, then –

"Oh, thank goodness."

Ozpin opened his eyes – so bright – hazy vision focusing on Professor Agrios standing over him, gold hair wild, purple circles gracing her face below the eyes, her clothes rumpled from too long a day. 

"Why, Ferra," he said, "you look terrible."

She laughed, a sound melted with tears she refused to shed, and struck him lightly on the arm, shaking the IV tubes that ran from his arm to an impressive amount of electronics and bags of clear liquids. 

The room spun lightly.

"Don't be an ass," she said. She took his hand and placed his glasses in his palm. "You look much, much worse."

He stared at the glasses, at the palm of his hand, familiar and strange all at once.

"I am sure I do. These gray hospital gowns really aren't my color."

His skin appeared to be quite green, a sickly tinge that did nothing to mask the violently magenta veins beneath.

“Did the poison affect my sight, or am I in fact – green?”

Ferra snorted, more affectionate than exasperated. "It’s a temporary effect,” she said. “It’ll fade in a few days. How do you feel?"

"Like I was poisoned," Ozpin said. He chuckled but cut the laugh off, feeling everything sway, his lungs objecting, constricting too soon. He closed his eyes again, leaning his head back on his pillow. 

"Light-headed," he admitted at last. "And breathing is a bit...tight."

"Don't strain yourself. You've been out for almost eighteen hours, and by all accounts you should be dead."

"Oh, nonsense," Ozpin said lightly, still not trusting himself to open his eyes. "It will take far more than an assassination attempt to kill me."

"That isn't funny," Professor Agrios said sharply. 

_Your levity isn’t needed, old man._

He never could remember how much death weighed on other people, making too light of his lives. 

A lingering habit he would never break.

"No, I suppose it was poor taste. I'm sorry, Ferra. I can't imagine how the last eighteen hours have been for you."

"Not easy," she said, but her tone softened. "But I'm fine. Or I will be. And in any case, you're not wrong. You're no better than a cockroach. You and your star student."

"Student...?" Ozpin glanced at her, then followed her eyes to the opposite side of the hospital room.

His breath stopped, trapped in his chest.

_Qrow._

"What happened?" he asked, forcing his tone to remain even. Qrow looked somehow small in the gray hospital sheets, so very different when he was asleep. Ozpin found the number of IV tubes in Qrow's arm and his sickly green skin much more unsettling than his own.

_Please say he’s all right._

_Please._

Anything else was too much to bear, too much to take, Ozpin’s stomach lurching abruptly.

"He saved your life," Ferra said quietly. "And took one in the process."

_Of course._

Qrow, the bodyguard. Qrow, Ozpin’s ally, his protector, his friend.

No, not merely friend. His –

Ozpin let out a long breath, feeling the sudden weight of Ferra’s words. 

This was his responsibility. 

He acknowledged it, and still wondered if he would have done anything differently given the foresight. 

He wouldn’t have asked Qrow to be there.

"What is his prognosis?"

"He's had a hard time of things," Ferra said flatly. "But he'll recover. His vitals have already improved faster than yours."

"Youth," Ozpin said, with a faint, short-lived smile. “Thank the gods.”

"You knew this was going to happen."

The accusation hung in the air for a moment; reluctantly, Ozpin tore his eyes away from his student to look back up at his deputy headmistress.

"No," he said. "I knew who Scheele was. I had information regarding his alliances. Some details about his Semblance."

"His Semblance. Poison."

"Through his skin," Ozpin said, with a shrug. "A poisoned handshake. That I did not predict."

"You expected it in the coffee. And you still drank it." Ferra's tone shook slightly. "You're a damn idiot. Sir," she added unconvincingly.

"I am, yes," Ozpin said, taking mild comfort in the consistent rise and fall of Qrow's chest. "But no, I thought the attempt would come later. This was rash. Impulsive. It isn't her style."

_"Her."_

It wasn't a question. Ferra looked away, unwilling to show her reaction to the implication. "You're using Branwen, aren't you?"

It was Ozpin's turn to look away. The question was all but rhetorical.

Ferra was shaking her head. "I'm not going to lecture you. Not now."

"Thank you, Ferra. I know you disapprove. To be honest, so do I." Ozpin sighed, the action tightening in his chest. "Qrow is...unique. Exceptional. If I had another option, if I had anyone else..." 

"I'm going to allow you your rest," she said, pushing her chair back. "Everything is quite under control. The faculty was informed - quietly - and the students have no indication of anything gone wrong. Professor Scheele no longer officially exists in Beacon records. Branwen was never present on the scene."

She was protecting him, at least. Protecting him when Ozpin placed him in the middle of - 

"Thank you, Ferra. Invaluable as always."

"Your office may require more...cleaning before it's suitable again." She paused, glancing at Qrow's bed, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. "Sir, just...know that that man cares about you. Perhaps in more ways than he should."

Ozpin kept his face empty of a reaction, but he felt the warmth on his cheeks. He had wondered how long it would take her to notice, but all the same he had no intention of speaking about it. 

How much Qrow cared was obvious. The _manner_ in which he cared –

_No._

That sort of thinking was ridiculous. 

Optimistic.

_Unallowed._

"Go see to your own rest, Ferra."

Professor Agrios sighed, long and dramatic, but she did not protest, too tired to object to the abrupt treatment she had long grown accustomed to.

“Please take it easy, sir.”

Ozpin offered half a smile. “I’m sure you’ve seen to the doctors to make sure I do.”

“I hope they drug you into oblivion for a week.”

“I love you too, Ferra,” he said softly, and she left, pretending not to hear him.

***

Qrow's senses began to rouse him.

Slowly, consciousness creeping in at a snail-like pace, like he was heavily drugged.

His head pounded.

_I’m hungover again._

What made him drink this much _this_ time?

Oz, probably. 

These days it was usually Oz.

Blinding light welcomed his open eyes, the throbbing in his head worsening.

"Go suck a cock, light," the young man growled - barely a whisper through his scratchy throat. Arm moving to shield his face, Qrow admitted this was the worst hangover he had had to date.

And that was saying something.

"Ugh. I'm never drinking again."

"A charming morning to you too, Mr. Branwen," came a soft, familiar voice. 

_Ozpin._

A welcome voice, even when the softest sounds hurt.

"Well,” the headmaster’s quiet tone continued, “it may not be morning, exactly. I have very little idea of what time or day it is, having been denied my watch and my scroll. Nevertheless, good morning."

Cryptic as ever, this was not the time for the professor's puzzles. Qrow peered an eye out from under his arm to glare at the headmaster.

The student's face immediately screwed up in confusion. 

Something was very wrong. 

_Where are the noises from the turning gears overhead? Where is the headmaster's emerald green suit? Why are there so many cords everywhere?_

He stared at Ozpin, in the dull gray gown, until everything slowly righted itself.

Ozpin, with tubes in his arms and a heartbeat beeping on the machine beside.

Ozpin, with the faint smile and the unmistakably green skin.

_We’re in the hospital. We were in Ozpin’s office. We were meeting Ferra’s new-_

Memories flooding his brain all at once, Qrow bolted up, gasping for air, as if to claw his way free. The room swam. He covered his mouth to steady his head and the wave of nausea that rose up his throat.

His crimson eyes darted back and forth, recalling the events that lead to this moment.

_The sight of Ozpin, below him, standing and collapsing into Ferra’s arms._

_The sound of Ozpin’s hoarse breathing as he lost consciousness._

Seconds stretched to minutes before he finally returned his gaze to the headmaster.

Ozpin’s expression changed – concern. Worry.

“Qrow.”

_His voice. His voice speaking Qrow’s name._

"Oz, you're alive..." 

Qrow had so much he wanted to say, yet frustratingly enough, not a single word came to mind beyond the obvious. 

The one thing that was important.

_Oz is alive._

"Very much so," Ozpin said, his voice light. His tone didn’t match his expression, the disturbance of – what?

Of Qrow being concerned?

Injured?

A spot of warmth sprouted in Qrow’s chest. Ozpin cared.

He cared a lot.

"Do stay still, Qrow. If you feel as I do, it's best to avoid sudden movement to prevent nausea. The doctors have assured me that we will both recover in sufficient time." 

Qrow was already nauseous; he didn’t need the warning. 

Ozpin hesitated again. "Do you...remember what happened?"

"I..." Qrow began. His hands clenched.

Visions of Ozpin collapsing replayed in his head.

Over and over and – 

"That asshole tried to _kill_ you." The word was a swift punch to the bed, the frame creaking feebly in response.

It took a full minute before Qrow could calm himself to continue, the room swimming around him in waves. 

"So I killed him." 

_And I would do it again. As many times as it took._

"So you did," Ozpin said softly. 

Sadly.

_Why would he be sad? Scheele is dead and Ozpin isn’t._

"I am very sorry for having put you in such a situation,” Ozpin continued, still in that sad tone. “Professor Agrios tells me the security footage no longer exists. She did not allow me the option of seeing it. I suspect she did so to protect us both." 

He met Qrow's eyes from across the room. "I don't know if I can ever truly express my thanks for your actions, Qrow."

Qrow simply nodded in response. He felt no remorse for the life he took - only anger at the attempt on his headmaster's life.

But Ozpin was alive. Staring back at Qrow.

The student broke the gaze first to rip the tubes and plugs from his arms and chest. Various mechanical complaints, the sharp sting of his arm where he torn the needles out, all urged the young man back down, but he didn't care in the slightest. 

He wanted to make sure Ozpin was real. He’d hallucinated enough when he was fucked up on one poison or another, he couldn’t risk it.

He _had_ to know. 

So he crossed the distance - balance unstable - but managing with the help of various medical instruments along the way, until finally he reached the headmaster.

Falling into a lean against the bed, Qrow reached with a shaky right hand to touch the headmaster's face - but stopped himself short. He settled for the man's shoulder. The warm, firm, very alive shoulder.

Qrow's left hand reaching to grasp Ozpin's hand, he felt the man's pulse, beating life into his veins. 

Qrow exhaled heavily, his head hanging in relief. "Thank the gods..."

***

Despite years of Qrow's dramatic responses, Ozpin was still taken aback by the violence he displayed now: the flinging of the medical devices, the scarcely restrained contact of the student's hand on him.

Ozpin knew it was the shock of everything that overwhelmed Qrow; the headmaster simply offered Qrow's hand a brief squeeze of reassurance, his other hand on Qrow's shoulder, guiding him toward the chair at his bedside.

How reassuring that hand was, the warmth of someone dear, holding onto him.

"Sit, please," Ozpin said, his tone more pleading than commanding. "You're in no state to be up yet." 

Qrow needed rest, he needed the antivenom in the IVs he just ripped from his arm, he needed –

_He needed to reassure himself._

He needed that from Ozpin. The headmaster sighed, squeezing the student’s hand with as much strength he could muster.

Qrow complied without protest, relinquishing the professor's shoulder in the meantime. Not yet raising his head, he kept the hand a bit longer.

"I thought you were dead."

The statement, given simply, in Qrow’s sleep-hoarse voice, made Ozpin’s throat tighten.

He squeezed Qrow’s hand again. At the moment, Ozpin had no better way to comfort him.

"Fortunately, it seems I'm a bit more of a challenge than Professor Scheele expected," Ozpin said. "Ferra likened us both to cockroaches, which is rather unflattering."

The joke fell a bit flat, the headmaster too tired to apply the proper lightness to his tone. 

Qrow offered up a half-hearted laugh. "She wasn't exactly wrong if someone tried to kill us both. Right now we’re two and oh."

Ozpin attempted a smile, out of relief more than humor.

"I am very thankful - and very happy - to see you awake, Qrow. I would have never forgiven myself if something had happened to you."

Of course, Ozpin thought, something _had_ happened to Qrow. He had been placed in a position to kill a man, poisoned and hospitalized as a result. Yet Ozpin could not bring himself to think in harder terms of _what if Qrow had died,_ and so he kept the polite, vague language of courtesy to shield him from his own emotions. 

Ozpin could have lost everything with this life, his school and position, forcing his hand when he was not prepared. And yet compared to Qrow’s life, it meant very little.

Ozpin was, at all times, more expendable than anyone else.

Another squeeze from Qrow’s hand brought Ozpin back to the moment.

"You know the gray hospital gown..." Qrow surveyed his headmaster, shaking his head. "It isn't really your color."

"No, pale neutrals have never been part of my usual palette. Unless," Ozpin added with a smile and a brush of his unruly hair from his eyes, "one counts an obvious sign of ageing. You, on the other hand," Ozpin added, "look much better in gray. Although such a plain color does you no true favors without some pop of something livelier."

Qrow smirked in response this time. "Red is a great color on me..."

“Oh, I think green is quite nice,” Ozpin said, running a hand briefly along Qrow’s cheek, comforted by the feel of his warmth, the outline of his cheekbones. “A shame it will only last a few days.”

Qrow met his eyes with an intensity that surprised Ozpin – but then again, it was a moment that required gravity.

He had never touched Qrow’s face, he realized vaguely, and wondered if the toxins that made them green had changed the smoothness there, the unnatural color deepest at the sharp cut of Qrow’s cheekbones – 

The door opened, Ozpin withdrawing this hand quickly, guiltily, his face flushing hotly, involuntarily guilty for –

_For what, exactly?_

Ozpin had little time to consider this, a team of nurses surrounding them, gloved hands pulling Qrow from the headmaster’s side.

“Oz – “

“Qrow, it’s all right,” Ozpin said, as the student struggled weakly against the nurses. “Please. Let them help you.”

Another squawked protest and the team of nurses wrestled Qrow back into bed, the doctor watching from Ozpin’s bedside.

“How long has he been off the IV?” Dr. Flax asked.

“Only a few moments.”

“Sir, it is essential he remain on them.”

“My apologies,” Ozpin said. “He…had a bit of a shock when he woke.”

“Understandable,” Dr. Flax said, ignoring the swearing that came from Qrow’s bed as the IV was inserted anew. “But sir, you are both in a precarious state at the moment. If I have to use restraints to make my point, I will. This is not a poison that clears easily, nor quickly.”

_A few missteps from death, still._

Dr. Flax was simply too polite to spell it out further.

“Would you mind moving his bed to beside mine?” Ozpin asked. He wished the nurses would leave, that this conversation would end, his head beginning to throb, the floor undulating beneath him. “He may not be inclined to climb after me if he can reach me.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Thank you.” Ozpin leaned back against his pillow, closing his eyes. 

_So very, very tired._

A squeak of wheels, and then everything went quiet again.

“Sir, if you need anything,” Dr. Flax’s quiet voice said from beside him, “please do not hesitate to press the call button.”

“So long as the nausea subsides, I think we will be quite fine.”

“It should pass within a day or two,” Dr. Flax said.

“You say that in a tone that suggests that nausea is the least of our worries.”

“I will place you on a series of painkillers beginning tomorrow. The general timeline of this toxin suggests you will need it.”

_So it’s going to hurt._

_Not that I don’t deserve as much. But Qrow –_

“I see,” Ozpin said aloud. “Thank you, Alistair. I think that answers all my questions.”

“I’ll return to check on you in an hour or so. Please try to rest, sir.”

Ozpin watched him leave, feeling Qrow’s fingers wrapping around his left hand again. He turned ( _oh my how the room spun_ ), finding the student’s bed frame aligned with his own, Qrow’s red eyes on Ozpin, the pressure on his wrist tightening.

“Now we’re proper bedmates,” Ozpin said lightly. “I must warn you that I have no idea if this host snores.”

Qrow’s lips twitched, his chest deflating with a long exhale.

"Are there any leads yet? You know Atlas didn't do this. Poison is too subtle for them."

"Is this really the time for that?" the headmaster said gently. Qrow was still too wired, too overly focused on what had passed; he needed time to process his emotions, to allow himself to truly feel them. Pushing forward with such a determined sense of action was unwise.

"I'm perfectly safe at the moment. No need to fortify the garrisons when we're both in such a state. Would it be such an unreasonable thing for me to ask that you attempt to relax?"

Qrow sighed again.

"I don't know if I know how to do that right now," the student admitted. "How do you relax, Ozpin?"

"Ah," the headmaster said, the sound one of irony. "How to relax...well, to be quite truthful, I'm not very good at it myself. I never have been. In fact, Ferra has stolen away my scroll to prevent me from working while hospitalized." 

Truthfully, the movement of his scroll would absolutely render him sick, and he loathed to admit as much to Ferra or Qrow alike.

This was his fault, for not taking the intelligence regarding Scheele seriously, for placing Qrow in the position to take this burden on his own body. Under Ozpin’s eye, Qrow shifted, antsy and shaky, disliking the man’s sudden, tense frailty.

Qrow needed rest, recovery, and he wouldn’t get anything of the sort unless he managed to _relax._ Therefore, Ozpin mused, distracting Qrow would be his priority for the duration of their hospital stay.

"I'm afraid I'm not a very good role model for relaxation. Ferra is perfectly right, of course; I would prefer to be working than sitting here so uselessly..."

"Then we just need to figure out how to be useful," the student pondered, eventually shaking his head. "I can't think of anything we can do confined to a damn bed.”

The thought came without warning, a clear visual that Ozpin just as quickly brushed aside, feeling the warmth on his cheeks that accompanied the intrusion. 

_You must be tired, old man._

"Nor I," Ozpin said, clearing his throat involuntarily. "Unless we were simply to spend it in conversation. If I am charming enough, I may be able to convince one of the nurses to bring us a chess board. I'm afraid otherwise the idea is to strong arm us both into legitimately resting."

"Oz...are you okay?" Qrow was concerned, on edge, eyes sharp, searching. 

“Fine, Qrow. I promise.”

"Let me get the nurse."

“Qrow.”

The student made a frustrated noise. “You cleared your throat. The last time you – “

_Oh._

He had, hadn’t he? A shake of Scheele’s hand and within minutes, Ozpin had felt the quiet restriction of his throat, of the dizziness that made the room shake and shift.

"No, no, that's not necessary," the professor protested quickly, sitting up to place a restraining arm on Qrow's shoulder. He silently admonished himself for the inappropriate thought process that led to the clearing of his throat, the vague warmth on his face. He recalled Ferra's warning that Qrow was too attached for his own good. 

_Maybe it’s for my own good as well._

He pushed all the thoughts away at once.

"I'm quite fine, Qrow. I promise. Please, relax."

_Fine. Tired, but fine._

It was only natural, after all, that another brush with death made him such startling, unallowed thoughts.

Qrow reached a hand out to check the man's forehead himself. A moment, in which Ozpin felt his heart stumble, and Qrow dropped his hand back to his side.

"All right, but if you start passing out, I am calling the nurse."

"That is fair," the headmaster murmured, Qrow's cold hand leaving an imperceptible mark on Ozpin's forehead.

_Tired, tired._

He realized Qrow was speaking, and turned his eyes back on his student.

“I beg your pardon?”

"I asked if you have any more etiquette lessons for me?"

Ozpin gave a quiet chuckle, the vibration of his own chest making everything sway.

So desperate for a distraction already.

"I'm not sure there is much else to teach you in terms of etiquette that I have not already touched upon," he said at length. "Unless you have something in mind that I have yet to cover."

Qrow shrugged. "How to fold napkins?" he laughed, "Nothing I can think I would actively use. Congratulations, Ozpin. You created a relatively functioning adult."

“Thank you,” Ozpin said quietly, “but I think the bulk of the credit lies with you, Qrow.”

A boy who came to Beacon to learn to kill, and who had become a man who used his skills to have a life.

_More debt I will never pay off._

Qrow slumped back in bed. "What about twenty questions? I can guess some deep dark secret of yours."

Ozpin chuckled. "I can't say I've ever played twenty questions - not in many, many years, in any case, but I suppose I can dust the rules off from the back of my mind. I do think, however, you overestimate how many deep, dark secrets I have left."

"Kinky. Gonna give a general topic, or just have me wing it?"

"Since I'm a bit rusty, I thought I would let you set the official parameters of the game."

Qrow's leg resumed bouncing in thought. "Something before you worked as a professor. Either while you were a Huntsman, or before, but you gotta tell me which."

Ozpin settled back on his pillow, his head in one hand. "I am a Huntsman, yes. But I was trained a long time ago. I'm not sure it would be of much interest to you."

"Everything about you is interesting, Ozpin.”

The room warmed when Qrow spoke like that, when Qrow looked at him like that.

Some faint, old part of him surfaced, a quiet ache for things he once had and allowed himself no longer.

Ozpin looked away first.

Qrow held up his index finger. "Just pick something about yourself I don’t know. Doesn’t have to be that deep, you know. First question, does it have to do with a mission?"

Ozpin thought for a moment, deciding what he would be inclined to reveal to the student. There were, of course, lifetimes of events to choose, but somehow…

This life mattered the most to Qrow, and so he would pull back the curtain just a little more.

Just for Qrow.

"Not quite," Ozpin said. 

“So, personal, not business..." Qrow mused. "Is this an incident or character trait?"

"I suppose you could call it an incident."

"Alone or with other people?"

"Alone," Ozpin said. "That's what made it noteworthy."

"Some personal achievement...first Grimm killed?" 

Ozpin shot his student a glance. "So you're good at this game," he remarked. "Yes."

Qrow barely concealed his smirk. 

“I think I know you by now, Oz.”

A smile tugged at Ozpin’s lips. 

“So you do,” he said. “Better than anyone has in quite some time.”

Qrow grinned. "Nevermore, Beowolf, or Griffon?"

The headmaster chuckled, pleased at the question. It would be a shame for Qrow to guess quite so quickly. "I'm afraid it's none of the above. Would it help if I mentioned it was not a planned conquest?"

"Creep or Boarbatusk? Those assholes roam everywhere."

Ozpin's satisfied smile grew. "Guess again," he said.

"Goliath? Death Stalker? I mean, you already knew how to fight, even if it was in a new body."

Ozpin chuckled. "I'm afraid even I was not so ambitious to take on a Goliath on my own, but I was unwise enough to try a Death Stalker instead. Quite by accident, mind you. I'm not sure which one of us was more lost and out of our element, but it was not a pretty confrontation." 

He paused, dredging up memories from years prior. "I still have a faint scar from it," the headmaster added, motioning toward his left shoulder, hidden by the stiff hospital gown. 

"Can I see?" 

The stark, unconcealed curiosity made Ozpin laugh. “It’s barely anything at all.”

“Yeah, but somehow you’re so perfect, I never thought you’d have scars or anything.”

_Perfect?_

Another flush, another twist of his stomach.

“I’m hardly that,” he murmured. “I am perfectly…human.”

Nevertheless, he rolled up the crunchy sleeve of his hospital gown, exposing the pale skin of his shoulder. Along the topmost point of his shoulder, a faint white line ran several inches down his arm.

"Nearly invisible after all these years," Ozpin remarked, tracing the mark with his fingertips. "But I can still feel the indentation it left. I suppose one can say I have either very bad luck or very good luck regarding poison," he added with a small laugh. 

Intense crimson flicked from the wound to Ozpin's eyes. "The stinger got you?" Qrow took his time settling back in bed. "Do I wanna know how many times you have been poisoned?" 

His tone was light, a joke that neither took as such.

"Hopefully this was the last," Ozpin said, rolling his sleeve back down. "In both past and present cases, the confrontation was unplanned, and, I freely confess, the result of my own carelessness. I intend on learning my lesson this time. Before I was alone, and the consequences were mine alone. This time, I nearly cost you your own life. That sort of lesson…leaves a very different scar."

Ozpin was greeted with an extended silence. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Qrow said at last. “I don’t regret it. I don’t regret being here, with you. Together.”

Ozpin looked away. Perhaps Qrow didn’t recognize the gravity of the circumstances, but that felt unfair to the man. He wasn’t a child, and Ozpin did him no favors by rejecting his selflessness.

No matter how little he had earned it.

"Truth or dare?" Qrow blurted.

Ozpin started, looking at his student in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I mean. Not much we can do dare-wise, but I’m trying.”

Qrow’s nonchalance belied the anxiety beneath, his eyes asking for Ozpin to humor him.

_Bless him, he’s trying to cheer me up._

Transparent now, his carefully erected walls scaled, and now Qrow stood on the other side, and chose to stay.

_How terrifying,_ Ozpin thought.

But he could oblige Qrow in this.

"The memories these games bring back...perhaps I should begin with truth?" So saying, Ozpin lifted his right hand, still tethered to the medical machines beside him.

"Have you ever had strong feelings for someone you shouldn't?"

The question was blunt.

A question prepared, waiting on Qrow’s tongue for –

What reason?

"Ah," Ozpin said involuntarily, feeling his face warm again. "That is quite the question. I recall the 'truth' option being a bit more merciful when I last played..."

He wished to say no, but he wasn't sure if that was entirely truthful, and if it was not, he was still uncertain as to its exact nature - or if he wished to be perfectly frank with Qrow at all.

"It's a complicated answer, I'm afraid," he said at length. "I suppose I have, yes, but I'm not certain if it's in the same vein you mean. My position at Beacon requires me to remain at a professional distance from both students and faculty, and I don't think I'm always quite successful in that. I care very deeply about those under my care, about Ferra, about you – "

He broke off the sentence, shaking his head, the action making the room spin so quickly he grasped the bedframe, his breath catching.

“Oz?”

The headmaster sighed, eyes closed as the motion ebbed. "It causes one to struggle with objectivity."

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed, as though expecting something more profound, wiser.

“I’m sorry,” Ozpin said. “I…stopped doing that a long time ago.”

“Stopped what? Falling in love?” Qrow gave a laugh, incredulous. “Oz, you can’t help who you fall in love with.”

_No, of course not and that’s why it’s become so dangerous -_

“I can try,” Ozpin said, the admission coming out as a whisper.

The room had come to a pause once more and he pried his fingers off the frame, feeling Qrow take it in his just as quickly.

“Sorry,” Qrow said. “Didn’t mean to get so serious.”

The headmaster glanced at him, feeling the drop of his gut.

_No more secrets,_ he had told Qrow.

That was just another lie.

“It’s your turn,” Qrow said, his voice soft. His eyes fluttered, his head heavy on his pillow. He had to be exhausted, Ozpin thought, stroking his hand with his thumb, noting the paleness of Qrow’s face under the strange green tint. Finally, it seemed like the young man's adrenaline from waking was fading. Ozpin hoped to convince him to sleep soon, his own weariness heavy in his limbs but unwilling to admit as much aloud. 

"A compromise then," Ozpin said. He reached forward and brushed a strand of Qrow's hair from his face, pausing to check the student's temperature - or at least that's how he rationalized it, but what exactly he was attempting to rationalize, he wasn't certain. 

"Either you can tell me the worst infraction you've done at Beacon - one that I do _not_ know about - or you can take the dare, and try and get some rest."

Qrow cursed under his breath loud enough for the headmaster to overhear.

A haughty sigh began Qrow's response. "Truth. I don't know what all you know I have done at Beacon, or what qualifies as worst...and I think you've caught all the worst - but I did steal someone's clothes from the shower and tar and feather him...sorta. Wasn't tar, but you get the idea. He was so loud about it that everyone came out of their dorms. It was pretty cold that night too. Everyone called him 'Lil' Chicken' for the next two years. It was great," the student added with a smile, faint and sleepy.

Ozpin knew about this prank, of course, but it was one he had not mentioned to Ferra, and so Qrow had gotten away with it, Ozpin secretly amused by the entire incident.

“I think that concedes our game,” the headmaster said gently, giving Qrow’s hand a light squeeze. “Time for rest now, Qrow.”

"Good night, Oz..." Qrow mumbled, his head limp on his pillow now, the pressure on Ozpin’s hand subsiding. 

Ozpin couldn't pinpoint precisely when Qrow dozed off, leaned toward the professor's bedside, for Ozpin himself succumbed to the quiet of the room; when he roused himself, it felt wrong to wake Qrow. The young man needed his rest and, Ozpin conceded was due to his own selfishness, the headmaster did not at all mind Qrow's quiet snores.

Even now, long after the shock of the assassination attempt had slowly faded, Ozpin had the need to keep Qrow close. He no longer feared for Qrow's health, or even his own, and yet the desire remained. It was somehow a significant feeling, Ozpin knew, but its nature eluded him as sleep threatened. Letting go of his thoughts, he settled against his pillow, one hand still holding onto Qrow's, unwilling to break the connection.


	5. In which Ozpin and Qrow are forced to spend a lot of time together, and Qrow takes advantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When you get older, plainer, saner  
> When you remember all the danger we came from  
> Burning like embers, falling, tender  
> Long before the days of no surrender  
> Years ago and well you know  
> Smoke 'em if you got 'em  
> 'Cause it's going down  
> All I ever wanted was you  
> I'll never get to heaven  
> 'Cause I don't know how
> 
> Let's raise a glass or two  
> To all the things I've lost on you  
> Tell me are they lost on you?"
> 
> \- "Lost on You", LP

Qrow lost count of the minutes he spent laying in the hospital bed staring at the ceiling. He lost count of the hours he spent watching Ozpin, making sure the man's condition did not worsen, watching him sleep, watching the limp limbs and gentle breathing. Free now to stare at Ozpin’s bare face as much as he wanted, but somehow robbed of the pleasure of that.

His luck really did know no bounds.

It had to have been days in this hellhole, their skin gradually blossoming in green blisters - which they were informed were not only highly contagious, but potentially lethal if the fluid were ingested.

Qrow, unable to resist the constant itch of one, accidentally popped the largest on his left side and now had a hand size trail running down his side. The green ooze stained his skin in an unnatural color Ozpin had told the man was very becoming.

 _Becoming, my ass._

Qrow knew he looked like hell. The skin surrounding the blisters had morphed into a rusty yellow, skin peeling, thinning, threatening to burst the bubbles. Qrow's veins now ran an obscure purple in place of red, his eyes resembling some Grimm hybrid that should never have existed.

And it _hurt._ His muscles ached like he pulled them all at once, his skin cracked and broke out, his vision blurred, his blood running like lava through his heart.

And this was with the painkillers the doctor claimed he was on.

He felt like he was burning and bleeding to death on the inside.

And yet despite the fire coursing through his veins, despite the excruciating blisters, the dry mouth, the pain associated with the smallest movement...Qrow wouldn't hesitate for a second to kill the bastard and bathe in his blood again.

If it saved Ozpin, he would do it a hundred times over.

And Qrow was lucky. 

At first. 

His Aura activated from the fight had protected him until it was depleted when he collapsed in the hospital wing. He was so drenched in the poison they couldn't clean him fast enough to prevent the side effects, but there was a chance he would live.

 _Chance, my ass._ Qrow was too stubborn to die. He was a fighter. A survivor. Always had been and always would be. Some pansy ass poison toad wasn't going to change that.

From his back Qrow watched the steady rise and fall of the headmaster's chest in his deep sleep. Of course, _Oz_ didn’t look like hell. Still a sickly green, his veins shared the same bizarre shade of magenta as Qrow’s; his hands, folded loosely on his chest, bore the same blisters, but on Oz – 

Somehow it didn’t look so bad.

And Qrow felt better watching him sleep. This was probably the most sleep Ozpin had gotten in weeks. At least there was that silver lining.

Qrow stopped fidgeting, studying Ozpin’s sleeping form, his eyelids fluttering with some gentle dream. He had never seen Oz sleep before, unless he counted the stolen dozes at his desk, or the time Qrow drugged him in his second year. But to actually _see_ him sleep –

Not very many people had this privilege. 

_It’s kinda cute._

Qrow learned every detail of it: how Ozpin drifted off, his eyes closing slowly, fluttering as though he fought it; how he let out a long sigh just before he fell asleep, body sinking as he let go of the stress he couldn’t take with him; how he favored his right side as he slept, allowing Qrow to watch the calmness on his face.

He was aware of exactly when that calmness cracked, Ozpin’s brows furrowing in his sleep, hands twitching, as if he tried to reach out, the soft, distressed noises he made when it was obvious he was having a nightmare. 

He had a lot of nightmares.

When he did, Qrow would sit up, reaching over the frames of their beds to take his hand, to run fingers through Ozpin’s hair (it was as soft as it looked), to stroke the headmaster’s cheek until Ozpin quieted, settling back into sleep without realizing the source of his comfort.

In sleep, Ozpin had never been closer to Qrow.

But Qrow could feel Ozpin’s guilt when he was awake, a darkness that clouded his smile and his words, keeping Qrow at a distance the student had spent years closing; Qrow didn’t need a psychologist to tell him that Ozpin regretted Qrow’s actions, regretted Qrow being injured. 

_Too fuckin’ bad, old man._

Ozpin was still his headmaster, but he sure as hell wasn’t telling Qrow what to do anymore.

At least not when Ozpin was too exhausted to argue.

Qrow rolled over, back to his favorite new hobby: watching Ozpin sleep.

_You know, in case something goes wrong. In the calm safety of the hospital._

As if on cue, the machines attached to Oz broke into a shrill scream, the electronics echoing in the room.

Qrow jolted up instantly.

 _Something_ is _wrong. Something is horribly wrong._

"Oz!" 

_This is your fault. Your bad luck._

He wasted no time, throwing off the covers and jumping from his bed to Ozpin's, the IVs in his hand stinging at the pull, straddling the man as he attempted to shake him awake, panic swelling, his blood alight. 

_The doctor said he’d be fine the doctor said –_

***

"Oz!"

Ozpin jerked awake, the weight on his body feeling like a prison, like an assailant holding him down, helpless in his weakened state, the remnants of the toxins in his blood making his veins burning as though filled with fire. He struggled against the hands that held his wrists down, his eyes falling upon the altered face of Qrow Branwen; immediately what little strength he had left him, and he fell limp against his pillow.

His heart raced, his lungs aching to breathe.

Qrow remained straddled over him, his hands still gripping Ozpin's wrists, his poison-stained face close to the headmaster's, red eyes wide and searching. 

"Oz?" he said again, his voice softening. 

"Qrow," the professor said, his voice hoarse, the frantic beeping of his electronic heart monitor beginning to slow. He closed his eyes, feeling the realness of Qrow's weight. 

He tried to ease Qrow’s grip from his arms, a tremor in his hands, the memories fading.

_No, not memories._

"I...I was having a nightmare." 

Qrow still searched his face, his body tense.

"I dreamt that when you tried to save me..." 

Ozpin’s throat closed involuntarily against saying the words, his gaze faltering under the heavy emotions that surged through him. 

"It felt so very real," he murmured.

Qrow tilted his head to one side as though curious, loosening his grip at last, but not releasing the headmaster, the student's hands trailed up Ozpin's arms. "I...did kill him, Oz," he said.

The professor shook his head, closing his eyes for only a moment, the visions still lingering behind eyelids.

"I dreamt that he killed _you,_ Qrow," Ozpin said quietly. 

Qrow offered a solemn smile. "You know I wouldn't go down that easily, Oz...I'm too damn stubborn." 

Qrow slowly slipped from Ozpin’s lap, cradling his headmaster in a delicate hug. 

“…you’re still alive,” he whispered. 

“Yes. Qrow, I’m fine.” _Fine_ was a relative term, of course, but now it simply meant _not dead_ and that was enough for them both.

Ozpin pulled the student against him, his mind still attempting to cast out the awful images from his subconscious. 

"You wouldn't have been the first student that I had to..." 

He broke off the sentence without finishing, realizing the futility of saying such things aloud. Qrow was right: he was here, alive and possibly even more stubborn than Ozpin himself, and yet the doubts did not quickly dissipate. 

Ozpin's hand strayed upward, his fingers sloping into the student's hair, guiding Qrow's face against the headmaster. 

The other tragedies of Ozpin's failures had been just that, and yet this -

Qrow was different. Ozpin could not explain why or how or in what manner, but he knew Qrow was different than all the others. And Qrow, bless him, didn’t seem to regard Ozpin’s meddling as the curse it likely was.

The student wrapped his arms around Ozpin's torso abruptly, almost crushing the man against him.

"Shhhh. I'm not going anywhere, old man."

Ozpin let out an involuntary exhale at the strength of the student hugging the air from his lungs, chuckling breathlessly at his enthusiasm. 

"Fine, fine," he said, offering Qrow a reassuring pat on the back, the other remaining in the young man's hair, fingers gently running through the dark locks.

"Just be sure no one else hears you call me that," he added, "or else everyone may come to think me as old as I really am." He absently rubbed at the silver scruff on his face, unfamiliar and strange. "Rather cruel of the doctors to deny us the civility of a razor. At this rate, in a week I'll be a caricature of my former youth. And you," Ozpin added, amused, "already look several years older than you should."

"Does that mean I should keep it?" Qrow murmured from the crook of Ozpin's neck, his breath on Ozpin’s throat.

Qrow’s former aversion to touch, to nearness, seemed now to be exempt. But of course he was exhausted, sick, and so he allowed Ozpin’s caresses without complaint now. The headmaster was grateful for that, for the warm relief it brought Ozpin, the vague memories it dragged forth of families, of partners, of comforts long gone.

Qrow brought forth those feelings increasingly often these days. 

"It would be an interesting experiment," Ozpin said, his eyes trailing Qrow's darkened jaw. "If my opinion means anything, I rather think it suits you."

Smug smirk in place, Qrow loosened his grip on the headmaster only to collapse more snugly beside him, still holding him close.

"You like what you see?" he asked, grinning.

Ozpin chuckled, shifting in the suddenly crowded hospital bed to allow Qrow more space, although the student didn't seem to want it, latching onto the headmaster as though certain he could be stolen away at any moment. Ozpin didn't mind at all, his own nightmares fueling a similar frame of mind, the two sharing a trauma that they might help one another overcome. 

Not that Ozpin had ever truly been able to shake the nightmares over the years. 

"I do," the professor teased in return. "I am still particularly fond of your current shade of green."

Qrow rolled his eyes, emitting a small growl as he did so. 

"Lucky me. Next thing you know Ferra's shadow will like the color of my veins. Although..." He let the sentence trail off, eyeing Ozpin studiously.

“What is it?”

In place of a response, Qrow lifted his head enough to blow into Ozpin’s ear.

Ozpin's breath caught in his throat, stopped short at the shock of the warm sensation, all thoughts halting; his body gave a violent quiver, his face responding with instant heat. 

Craning his head back, Qrow watched the headmaster flush. "Almost red - my favorite color. You're getting better.”

"Really, Qrow," the headmaster said, his voice more breathless than intended. "There are more...appropriate ways to ascertain my health. Your teasing of late has gotten rather..."

_Rather what? Brazen?_

He had always been brazen. This was…

Something else.

He didn't know how to describe the recent changes in Qrow's behavior, feeling an uneasiness that he couldn't place, all unfamiliarity.

"Flattering?" Qrow offered with a laugh. He dropped his voice, whispering into Ozpin’s ear as though sharing a secret. "I keep it behind closed doors. I just like making you blush..." 

As if on cue, Ozpin's cheeks burned anew, unfairly reacting to the younger man's hushed tones.

"Hardly flattering," he said, petulant. Qrow's teasing bothered him in some strange way, like a schoolboy tormenting a crush. "I do hope you at least acknowledge that you're privileged to be able to speak to me in such a manner."

 _"Scio,"_ Qrow replied in their secret language. "But you know you're _privileged_ also. You're the only one I really...obey.”

“I think that’s a fair demonstration of _quid pro quo,”_ Ozpin said, his voice sounding pouty even to himself.

 _"Quid pro Qrow_ you mean?" Qrow asked, still grinning. "Done. I'll behave in front of others, as long as I get you behind closed doors.”

Again, that hidden meaning in Qrow's eyes, in his voice, that Ozpin could not define, nevertheless making him blush, fogging his thoughts, robbing him of words. He opened his mouth to speak, but the monitor beside his bed rang out with another alarm, and the headmaster turned toward it in surprise.

His pulse, racing now, had tripped the alarm.

"Hell," Ozpin said without thinking.

The medical staff was prompt, hurrying in toward the electronic wail. Dr. Flax was first, silencing it with a finger, shooting the two men a stern eye.

Ozpin glanced at Qrow, the young man's arms still wrapped around the headmaster, and coughed lightly. 

"I, ah...had a nightmare," the headmaster said quietly. "I'm sorry to trouble you for no reason, Alistair."

Dr. Flax sighed, pulling a pair of gray gloves from his pocket, the nitrile snapping against his skin. He nodded a quick dismissal to the nurses, who filed out silently.

"To be expected, sir," he said at length. "Toward me, if you please."

Now Ozpin sighed, weary from the medical prodding of the last few days. He offered his face to the doctor, the brief light of a flashlight checking pupils, tongue, ears - Ozpin tried very hard not to look at Qrow - to ensure the headmaster was not lying.

"A nightmare, eh?" the doctor said. He looked at Qrow, still audaciously attached to his professor. "You have them too?"

Qrow nodded, his expression _shamelessly_ sad, eyes turned upward like a puppy begging for a treat. 

"I don't feel safe sleeping. Sorry..." he said in an unusually soft voice, looking from the doctor to the headmaster, then back to the doctor.

Ozpin stared at this display of false weakness.

_Shameless._

“I see,” Dr. Flax said, shooting the student a suspicious glance. "That why your heart monitor went off too?"

The doctor motioned for Qrow to sit up, not waiting for a reply, repeating the series of superficial checks, running a delicate finger across one of the young man's blisters, eyeing the unusual color of his skin. 

"You're fine," he said, gruffly. "Well. For you. For this toxin. I hope you know how fortunate you both are to even be alive. You in particular," he told Qrow, "considering the reckless exposure. Although..."

Ozpin felt the analyzing stare of the doctor on him again. 

"You're looking much improved, sir," he said. 

"Thank you, Alistair."

"It's not meant to be a compliment, sir. It's...unusual."

"How so?"

"Even small exposures to this particular poison are more often than not...fatal. Your rapid recovery is...remarkable."

"Is that so," Ozpin said, unconcerned. "How very fortunate for me to be an outlying statistic."

The doctor made a noncommittal noise, shaking his head as if to dismiss his own paranoia.  
"You," he added, pointing at Qrow. "You need to keep your damn heart monitor attached, sleep or no sleep. I can prescribe you both a sleep aid that should help with the nightmares, as I am not comfortable increasing the level of your pain medication. How is the pain, by the way?”

Ozpin and Qrow exchanged a quick glance, neither wishing to speak the obvious truth.

“It’s…difficult to sleep,” Ozpin murmured at length.

Dr. Flax pursed his lips. “Let me switch out what you’re on for something a bit…different. It tends to strong-arm rationality in place of pain, but I suppose it doesn’t matter if you’re terribly coherent.”

Ozpin blinked. “Well, I – “

“Professor Agrios’ orders, sir. Recovery over all else.”

The headmaster sighed, leaning back on his pillow.

He had not admitted it aloud, but he had hoped to be released soon. Now – 

“I suppose," Dr. Flax added, his voice all hesitation, "if you truly cannot sleep alone, I can have the nurse swap your beds for a larger size. If Mr. Branwen really cannot find the motivation to remain in his."

_…swap…beds?_

"Yes, please," Qrow said before Ozpin could interject.

“I – “ 

_He’ll keep ripping out his IVs if you have more nightmares._

_Yes, but…in the same bed –_

The spike on Ozpin's heart monitor beeped too loudly, making the headmaster start. He dropped his eyes from the doctor's raised eyebrows.

"Just a muscle spasm," he murmured. It wasn't entirely a lie; every part of him that did not carry the dull ache of the poison was stiff with apathy, itching to leave the stark white of the hospital, the papery gray gowns that crunched with every uncomfortable movement. 

"Perhaps I can see about a muscle relaxant," the doctor mused, as though to himself. "Ferra already warned me that you would become restless, and I cannot allow you to strain yourself this early in your treatment, sir. Doubly for Mr. Branwen," he added. 

"That rather sounds like Ferra wishes me drugged into submission," the headmaster remarked lightly.

"That is closer to her phrasing," the doctor said. "And before you ask, sir, she says you are not allowed your scroll, and that everything is fine."

Ozpin couldn't hide the frown, the doctor anticipating his next question. 

_The perks of having a too-efficient second-in-command come with their downside._

"Let me see to getting the bed switched," the doctor continued, "and that change in medication. Any other _reasonable_ requests, sir?"

"Can I have my scroll?" Qrow asked. “You know, for news or watching videos?”

Dr. Flax offered him a stern look. “I can ask Professor Agrios. Anything else?”

_Of course, Qrow would be allowed his scroll but I am left without._

Ozpin tried to smooth the pout from his voice. "No, I think that will be all, Alistair. Oh! Unless you can convince Ferra to be so kind as to bring us a chess board?"

"Chess? Well. I can't say that would affect your blood pressure. Very well, sir, I'll relay the message."

"Thank you, Alistair."

The doctor waved an acknowledgement as he strolled from the room, pulling green-stained gloves from his fingers and tossing them in the hazard-marked canister at the door.

Ozpin glanced at Qrow. "You were quite quick to agree to his suggestion," he said. "I didn't realize you were also having a difficult time sleeping."

The student shrugged, reclining next to Ozpin, his head resting on the headmaster's shoulder. "I grew up sleeping lightly - ready for battle, you know? So sleeping all drugged up makes me restless."

“Yes, I suppose I understand," Ozpin said. "Perhaps the doctor's new prescriptions will help us both have some proper rest. Although if Ferra suggested drugging me, I suspect it will have some...interesting side effects."

He was not certain what to make of his own reaction to the suggestion of sharing a bed with Qrow. It was a pleasant idea and yet one that made him vaguely uncomfortable, thoughts wandering to the ethics in such a unique situation. Given their shared trauma, Ozpin felt it only natural that Qrow would wish to remain as physically near Ozpin as possible, and the headmaster himself preferred knowing his nightmares were only that, that Qrow was safely curled beside him and not in the guilt-laden, blood-stained visions that had haunted him for several nights. The heart monitor beeped a brief warning, the headmaster glancing at it automatically, wondering tiredly what exactly that meant. 

Lunch arrived with a new bed and a chess set, a team of nurses wheeling the furniture in, their assistance necessary to aid their weak patients to their feet, Ozpin poignantly aware of his current state of undress in front of so many people - people who worked for his school. 

A student who attended his school. 

He had little opportunity to think about it, however, for the shift from one bed to another was a mild agony, inflamed muscles coming to life with prickling protests, two nurses required to hold him up on weakened legs, one clucking fretfully at the alarm of his heart monitor - this time indicating a drop of blood pressure. His head swam with being upright for the first time in days, acknowledging that perhaps Ferra was right about keeping him hospitalized for a bit longer. He stole glances toward Qrow when the student was removed from bed, knowing that if he was faint, Qrow would be worse off for his slower recovery. 

He had been covered in blood, they told Ozpin.

Ozpin could not bring himself to ask for details.

The headmaster felt breathless when his head finally hit the pillow, the nurses pulling the covers over him as though he were a child. He certainly was as frail as one, the room drifting unsteadily around him as his electronic monitors beeped their disapproval. Qrow was dropped rather ungracefully beside him, Ozpin admitting that he already appreciated the immediate company, the gentle comfort of a warm body near him. 

Qrow's scroll was returned to him, Ozpin restraining the sigh that came with the injustice of his own denial, but he already knew that reading off so small a screen would prove only to make him more ill, so unstable was his sense of balance. He considered the chess board the nurses left on the bedside table, but his head swam too much to think clearly, instead watching the nurses fiddle with Qrow's electronics, clamping the heart monitor to the young man's finger and chest with stern looks that seemed to challenge their removal.

"Dr. Flax prescribed this," one of the nurses said, placing a bottle on the table. "No more than one every twelve hours. Should help you both sleep, sir."

"Thank you. Any side effects to which I should be aware?"

"Well." She paused, giving a shrug. "If you stay conscious, sir, you won't be in any condition to work."

The nurses wished them both well, with the usual remarks on calling for assistance if needed, and the warnings against removing their monitors. Ozpin waited until the door closed behind them before glancing at Qrow.

"So," he said, examining the medication bottle and giving it a shake. "Care to try one, or would you prefer to save them for tonight?"

Qrow stifled a snicker. "You make it sound like we are going to hallucinate on them or something."

Ozpin chuckled. "If this was Ferra's suggestion, rest assured that it is half for my health and half to ensure I remain too indisposed to function. It would not surprise me in the least if hallucinations were a side effect, although I suspect that we will merely end up in a state akin to intoxication."

"Oh no," Qrow responded sarcastically. "Anything but that, Professor. You know I hate that so much."

Ozpin snorted, amused despite himself. "Don't be an ass," he said, popping a pill into his mouth. "Have one if you'd like. I suspect I'm stubborn enough to try to escape if something doesn't force me to relax."

Qrow grunted an agreement, popping a pill into his mouth as well. "I thought that was what we were sharing a bed for? So I can force you to relax. Ass and all."

Another sharp warning from the headmaster's heart monitor; Ozpin shot the machine a glare, the student followed immediately after.

 _"Really,_ Qrow," he said. The student had not been lying about watching Ozpin blush, and he was irritatingly good at it despite the professor's best efforts to suppress it. With luck, the medication would render that dangerous sense of humor to a duller point that didn't make Ozpin's mind wander toward repressed thoughts. 

Qrow chuckled at the colorful response. "You're the one that said it, Professor. I only reorganized the words."

The student made himself comfortable in the new bed next to his headmaster, stretching out long legs now that they had the space.

"So what crazy side effects am I looking forward to? Hallucinations about a vacation on an island with girls in coconut bras bringing me unlimited drinks?"

“If that is your fantasy of choice, I hope your mind obliges you with the appropriate dreams," Ozpin said, arching his back to stretch, satisfied by the pop of stiff joints. "Given my mind's preoccupations as of late, I think I would prefer a dreamless night for once."

"Yeah..." Qrow said, eyes following the headmaster's direction and stretching with a yawn. "I think a dreamless night would be nice..."

He flipped onto his side, still yawning as he threw a careless arm over Ozpin’s torso, eyes closing the moment his head settled against the headmaster’s shoulder.

Ozpin froze, shocked into stillness by the familiarity, by the sleepy hands that pulled him close. The monitor beeped and he took a long breath to steady his heart, the racing within his chest. Qrow protested the noise with a quiet growl, falling motionless again within a moment.

Ozpin, even as the new medication began to weigh down his limbs and pull at his eyelids, remained awake for some time, feeling the weight of Qrow’s body atop his, thinking too long about the sensation of his hands around his waist, the unsettling flood of memories and wants echoing in the silence of the hospital room.

***

Ozpin watched Qrow flip through his scroll looking for absolutely anything to distract him from the monotony of the beige and white hospital. He was restless, but so was Ozpin; the headmaster was simply better at concealing it.

Ozpin had woken before the student, Qrow catching the man staring longingly at the student's scroll as if willing it to provide him access to the outside world.

“It’s restricted,” Ozpin said, with a wry smile, giving it a small shake as Qrow yawned himself awake. “We can access basic news networks and some website that appears to have quite a lot of videos in which people injury themselves for the sake of humor.”

“That’s something,” Qrow said, shooting Ozpin an amused look. “How long did it take you to figure out the restrictions?”

“Not long. I could bypass them, but it appears Ferra has changed my login role to ‘guest.’”

Qrow’s grin grew. “And how long you been starin’ at it since then?”

“Too long,” Ozpin said, the phrase a sigh, handing the scroll to Qrow, resigned to his fate.

The student fiddled with the applications before a new program flashed across the screen, bright colors swirling in the background.

Ozpin sighed into his pillow, counting the ceiling tiles again.

He had lost track of time again – not that it was uncommon for time to lose meaning, to confuse itself when Ozpin was tired, or had too much to drink, or was trapped in a dull hospital room, or was given some very _strong_ painkillers that made the room shift like a ship on a gentle wave – 

The pain was still there but it was an afterthought now, replaced by a softness of everything, a comforting blur of vision, of hearing, his tongue fighting a heavy idleness to speak; his thoughts came in swells of rationality, clarity that was quickly swallowed by vagueness, by a soothing peacefulness with everything about himself and his situation.

"He’s so gay I am surprised he can stand straight," Qrow said suddenly, off-handedly, as the headmaster idly watched the newscaster over Qrow's shoulder.

Ozpin shot Qrow a surprised look, then glanced back at the newscaster. The man onscreen looked perfectly ordinary, speaking in practiced tones about the latest White Fang movements. 

He laughed aloud, finding the remark inordinately amusing. "Do you...know him?" the headmaster asked. 

Qrow shook his head. "Nope."

Another stolen glance at the student. 

"Then may I ask how you came to such a deduction?"

"It's easy. Just look at 'im. Tips the gaydar off the charts.” Qrow spoke like an expert convinced, motioning to the screen as though this were all quite obvious.

Ozpin looked again at the very ordinary man onscreen, gently perplexed by whatever perception Qrow claimed to have.

"I'm afraid I don't follow. I see nothing in particular that would suggest..."

Ozpin had never heard of the word _gaydar,_ and although the meaning was obvious enough, the entire idea of it was disconcerting even through the haze of his medication. He glanced at Qrow, wondering exactly what the student may have read from the headmaster himself, but utterly unwilling to oblige his curiosity for fear of his suspicions. 

_Perhaps this medication is making me paranoid._

Ozpin laughed aloud at the thought, struck by the irony. 

_You’re always paranoid, old man._

Curious how his constant internal dialogue had added Ferra Agrios’ voice to the growing collection, all of his former lives seemingly awake now, unrestrained thanks to the medication that broke down his walls, his reason. 

"Look at his posture,” Qrow explained. “Too good for a guy not in the military or someone compensating for something. See his hands? He folds them on top of each other on his papers. Older guys tend to use canes or briefcases for the same thing."

_Older - ?_

_Oh. Hmm._

Ozpin shook his head, the bed floating. “That – that is not an adequate tell – “

"The polite nods while he smiles like he thinks he is hiding something is a dead giveaway too. Like a little kid thinking he is getting away with stealing candy only it's stealing glances at cute guys walking by. All that is just the surface. Don't get me started on the neck jewelry...the ascot or whatever.”

Somehow Ozpin managed not to blush, but his stomach dropped at the succinct analysis that could have just as easily described him. 

And he _still_ didn't understand. It was only natural to balance unoccupied hands atop his cane, wasn’t it? It promoted good posture, which he needed, being stuck at a desk for fifteen-hour days. 

_Polite nods._

Certainly Ozpin was guilty of the habit, but that was merely because it was often wiser not to show one's cards in tense situations. It absolutely was _not_ because he was stealing glances at attractive men.

Was it?

_He’s onto you, old man._

His heart monitor beeped and he jumped at the sound, the restrained blush breaking free of shattered defenses. He cleared his throat, looking toward the window, the treasonous electronics - anything that was not Qrow or the newscaster speaking in tinny tones.

"How very...interesting," was all he could manage. 

Qrow shrugged, for once politely ignoring what Ozpin was certain were obvious reactions. "I guess. It's easy to pick out the gay or straight. It's the others that are harder. They usually send a lot of mixed signals."

All of Ozpin's restraint went toward avoiding the nervous fidgets his body wanted to make, of the inappropriate, irrational laughter that bubbled quietly in his throat. 

_I have no more secrets from you, Qrow._

Except, of course, the obvious ones.

Of course, there had been those who had discovered the headmaster's...preferences, but he had not been this anxious as a result. 

This was different. This was a student. 

No, this was _Qrow._

Ozpin felt he had made this rationale regarding a lot of things about Qrow.

He still wondered what that meant.

_Certainly not the obvious._

He wanted to know what Qrow thought, or didn't think, but he couldn't ask. Not directly, of course. He couldn't possibly. To confirm that could make Qrow wish he had not agreed to sharing a hospital bed - or perhaps it would make Qrow very glad he had.

_Where in the world had that thought come from?_

Ozpin shook his head, his brain feeling lightweight. 

_Ah, yes, the medication. Of course._

He was merely feeling the side effects. 

And yet his curiosity did not falter. 

"Do you do this often?" Ozpin asked at last, feeling as though a hundred conversations had occurred in a single pause. "Analyze those around you in this manner?"

Another shrug from the student reclining at the headmaster's side. "Not on purpose," he said. "Tai used to say I was so in tune with my gaydar it crosses species."

 _Skirting the answer yet again._ Ozpin almost sighed in frustration.

"And how do you know you're correct in these perceptions of yours?" he asked.

"I used to ask, or more often I would see someone with their significant other. Eventually I didn't have to bother since I was never wrong."

Ozpin remained silent, unable to think of another indirect way to phrase the question. 

He sighed, leaning back against his pillow. He supposed that if Qrow wasn't going to mention the headmaster specifically, perhaps Qrow had never stopped to consider him. That was all for best, despite Ozpin's curiosity. 

_Yes, best to drop the matter altogether._

***

Qrow was enjoying his current hospital imprisonment _far_ too much.

He hadn’t forgotten, of course, his mission for his last year at Beacon, and he wasn’t above using this situation to his advantage. 

Ozpin, underdressed, intoxicated, and in the same bed?

_Not a chance in hell I’ll get this opportunity again._

And so Qrow decided, with all the powers of his ability to bullshit confidently, to drop Ozpin’s walls down a little bit more. Already, the man was unnerved, nervous fidgets as Qrow prodded, Ozpin’s face so _open_ now, the reactions flitting over like a billboard.

Qrow watched now as Ozpin sank into some form of disappointment. He hadn't reached some answer he was searching for.

 _I can do worse,_ Qrow thought, with all the assurance of a drunk man.

"There are others that are harder, of course. Like you. I don't think anyone else realizes you actually have an interest in anything other than your coffee," Qrow said, laughing as though telling a joke.

And on cue, Ozpin flushed red, shooting a sideways glance at his student. 

"I...what exactly does that mean?" he asked, his voice indignant.

"It means everyone thinks you don't have interest in anything,” Qrow said, debating how far to take this prank.

_A little further._

"Except me,” Qrow said.

_Check, old man._

Now Ozpin snorted, the medication robbing him of his courtesy.

Qrow didn’t mind. This was a rare glimpse of Ozpin as himself, stripped of – 

Well, Qrow thought, eyeing the headmaster’s bare throat. A _few_ things. 

"Despite what Ferra may imply,” Ozpin said, “you aren't as all-consuming of my life as she would like to think. I'm perfectly happy with my coffee, thank you."

"You are, but that doesn't mean coffee is your _preference,"_ Qrow said, enjoying the headmaster's discomfort.

"And you think you know me so well to be privy to that sort of information?"

"Yep," Qrow said.

The student's confidence was enough to make Ozpin doubt he knew anything at all - or maybe it was the boldness of his medication eroding his better judgement. Either way, Qrow grinned at his petulant response.

"Prove it," the headmaster said. 

Qrow did not hesitate – he leaned over Ozpin, pressing his mouth against the headmaster’s lips, soft but determined, one hand lifting to cup Ozpin’s cheek and pull him closer.

_Gods, his lips are just as perfect as I remember._

He thought of pushing further, of coaxing that shy tongue from Ozpin’s mouth, but even as the room spun gently around them, Qrow knew this had to be enough.

For now.

Qrow finally pulled back with a lazy smirk. 

_Oz didn’t pull away._

In fact, Qrow had felt the soft press of his lips in return, and now Ozpin sat, looking pink and shell-shocked.

"I think the meds kicked in again..." Qrow murmured, as though nothing had happened, flopping back down beside Ozpin. In truth, the medications had not influenced his actions at all. 

Qrow simply wanted an excuse to kiss his headmaster.

***

Surely Ozpin was hallucinating after all - the press of lips against his could not possibly be real.

And yet it felt rather nice.

No, he couldn't allow for this to happen - to be happening. This was against every ethical code he held to.

_And yet._

His mouth responded without thinking, his eyes closing at the touch of Qrow’s hand on his face, the soft pull toward Qrow, his head, his thoughts, all dizziness now – 

Qrow broke the kiss before Ozpin's inner debate could be settled, the student looking almost smug. 

"I..." The headmaster grappled with words that flitted away just as quickly as they came.

_Lecture him._

_No, that would make you a hypocrite. You wanted –_

_I didn’t want anything of the kind –_

_Don’t lie to yourself._

_It’s not a lie. It’s a hallucination._

_A very nice hallucination._

_Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t want –_

_Didn’t you? Didn’t you?_

The ridiculousness of the situation - of his uncharacteristic thoughts - struck him full force, and he laughed, the action leaving him even more light-headed, laughed until the bed rocked violently, until tears sprouted at the corners of his eyes. Qrow joined his headmaster, laughing until he collapsed on Ozpin, the two shaking until they couldn’t breathe.

“So?” Qrow asked breathlessly. “Was it good?”

“Was what good?” Ozpin asked, his sides aching from the laughter, his mind rocking along with the bed, with the floor.

“Ouch, Oz. My ego.” Qrow motioned as though stabbed through the heart. “That kiss that you’ve been dreamin’ about.”

_Oh, yes. That dream. This dream._

How many years since Ozpin had been kissed so well? More than he could –

_The Historical Masquerade._

_That had been nice._

_Quiet, old man, you know that was a terrible lapse in judgment._

_And this isn’t?_

_Yes, but it’s Qrow –_

_All the more reason to listen to reason._

_No. I don’t want to. Let me have this dream._

Ozpin let out a brief chuckle, shaking his head, enjoying the sway of the room it caused and how it dismissed the argument of too many voices in his head. "Am I really qualified to grade you on such a subject? It's hardly my area my expertise."

_Dream or not, Qrow has more than earned a bit of teasing._

"Do my natural animalistic instincts fit your criteria?" Qrow asked, with an exaggerated wink that made Ozpin dissolve into another fit of laughter.

“I don’t – I don’t think I should – “

“Maybe I need to prove it again?” Qrow said, his voice dropping to a timbre that made Ozpin pause. 

_Oh._

"Or maybe you should take a stab at my preferences?"

"One may assume you're attracted first and foremost to causing trouble," Ozpin said, his sarcasm automatic. He did not mind dropping the subject of himself now that Qrow had obliged him with an answer he both wanted and did not - leaving him with strange, medication-fogged thoughts he wished to cast aside.

"You like trouble too. That's why you let me get away with it," Qrow challenged.

"I like trouble if I can control it," Ozpin countered. "It's an ordered chaos that I allow. Ferra doesn't see that. I let you and other students test rules to see the results. Like testing new strategies in chess. Some will give interesting results; some will fail. In all cases, I learn something new."

"So you admit to controlling me to fulfill your desires?" the student teased.

The headmaster felt another blush. It was scarcely fair at all, he thought, with how strongly the medication seemed to hit him, while Qrow seemed as lucid as ever, as sharp-witted as ever. There was a strange lightness that came with the student's teasing now, a softly pleasant flutter in his stomach. It reminded him of when Qrow had kissed him so unexpectedly – 

_Or had that been a dream?_

He couldn't recall, but he was sure it had to be. He could never allow such a thing to happen.

The room was fully adrift now, Ozpin swaying with it, thinking it was lovely to have an ocean vacation without leaving the hospital.

"You think you're too clever to be controlled?" he said. "You _are_ clever, yes. But I have been doing this for a very long time. I'm quite good at it."

Qrow chuckled. "Maybe I just don't mind being influenced by you."

Ozpin joined in on Qrow's laughter. 

"I'm flattered," he said, "although I didn't quite give you a choice."

"Oh? You manipulate me without my knowledge then?" Qrow teased, head rolling onto Ozpin’s shoulder.

"Not much these days," the headmaster admitted. "Your first few years, yes, of course. But to help you more than anything. That's rarely necessary now. Although I'm hesitant to tell you more because I'm sure you would hate me for it."

Undeterred, Qrow shrugged, head flopping to the side. "Tell me anyway."

"If you insist," Ozpin said. "I have a number of effective methods. When you were younger, it was necessary to use your anger in more productive ways. Channeling anger into success for the sake of spite is simple enough. I'm very familiar with spite as a motivator."

Another laugh, the headmaster's thoughts threatening to float away.

"Now that you're older and in control, I find that your fondness for me is an excellent basis of persuasion. Most of the time when you deviate from my expectations, I can merely lower my voice, sigh, and suggest that you may have disappointed me in some way."

Ozpin wasn't wrong and Qrow's glare at him proved it.

"You're right about spite,” Qrow said, with a note of bitterness. “Then again if you knew how _fond_ I am of you, maybe you wouldn't tempt fate toying with the deviant behavior you enjoy so much.”

Ozpin chuckled under the weight of Qrow's glare, but the medication in his veins did not allow him to feel the sting of the student's disapproval.

"You make me sound so cold-hearted," the headmaster said. "You're a stubborn bird, you know. If I simply asked you to do things outwardly, it would be much more work, and the results less frequent. I assure you I don't do these things for any reason but to have you better yourself. I'm too fond of you to truly take advantage of that."

Qrow eyed his headmaster suspiciously. "So you manipulate me to better me for you," he concluded.

"I..." Ozpin paused, losing track of which end of the argument he was supposedly defending. "Are they not the same thing?"

He considered that sometimes they were not, but at the moment he could not find the words to say so, if in fact that is what he wished to say at all. He studied Qrow's swaying form ( _or am I the one swaying?_ ), wondering how long the student would remain that shade of green.

"I would not ask you to do something that was not in your best interest," the headmaster said. "Even if that proved detrimental to myself. In fact, if I could reverse time, you would not be here with me, no matter how I want your company."

Qrow's face screwed up in confusion, annoyance. "Why hurt yourself for me? Why not let me protect you?”

Ozpin looked at Qrow, feeling the lightness of the moment fade.

"Qrow, I would gladly place myself in harm's way for you if the situation allowed for no other option. That is not only my duty as your professor, but my decision to make as your friend."

Qrow look away, his face impossible to read.

"I...well. Thanks." Qrow’s eyes darted around the room, searching for words. "But I think that’ll end up being my job. Huntsman. I should be the one serving you. So you better suck it up now, old man. I’m here because I’m supposed to be. Protecting you.”

"I don’t think I have the power over you to turn down that offer," Ozpin said, with a comfortable yawn. The idea of Qrow continuing to work for him was more than a little appealing, even if it felt selfish in some way he could not place. It was the same feeling of having him here, with a shared experience that would somehow separate them from the rest of the world. 

"Good," the young man said catching the headmaster’s yawn. "Cause eventually, I'll always come back. My nest is too nice..." he trailed off, his head leaned on Ozpin’s shoulder again.

Ozpin chuckled, the sleepiness creeping back as though contagious. 

"You're always welcome back," he murmured. "I promise to leave your nest exactly as it is."

A lazy smile fixed itself on Qrow's lips as he secured his arm across Ozpin's torso, eyes closing slowly, giving the older man a brief squeeze. This time the feeling did not alarm Ozpin, the headmaster letting the warm drowsiness pulling him down unconstrained. 

“You’d better,” came Qrow’s whisper then, and Ozpin felt himself smile as he fell asleep.


	6. In which Ozpin's walls are lowered a little more, and Glynda Goodwitch begins her training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can I get a second cause I cannot get you out of my head  
> Where I've been it's not clean, I'm not sober  
> In my blood there's a stream  
> There's a stream of what I've done  
> Where I've been it's not clean, I'm not sober
> 
> And you are in my head  
> Think with all your thoughts  
> Come along to bed"
> 
> \- "Bedtime" by Annie Eve

Professor Ferra Agrios, acting headmistress of Beacon Academy, woke on the sixth day of her new position unabashedly wishing Ozpin was out of the hospital.

She didn't _want_ him to leave the hospital early, given the dire consequences of the untreated toxin, but how desperately she wanted out of his position. She would never admit it to his face, of course, how utterly impossible she found his job, the pull of so many urgent and important matters in all directions, the incessant feeling of being drawn and quartered and so very, _very_ tired. 

Her first stop of the morning was the faculty lounge, where one of the newest professors had already made coffee. The smell was a warm promise of potential productivity - or at least the softening of her desire to go up to Ozpin's office and jump out the window. 

"Thank you, Peter," she said to the young man who handed her a mug. 

"My pleasure, Professor Agrios, my pleasure," Professor Port said, as charmingly pompous as ever, even in the morning. "How do you take it?"

"Caffeinated," she said, and realized how very much like Ozpin she sounded. "On second thought, a bit of cream and sugar, if you please."

"Holding up in the headmaster's chair, are you?"

She could only groan a response, exhausted by the thought of another sixteen-hour day. 

"Maybe earning a touch of respect for Professor Ozpin's job?" Port asked, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Not a word to him, Peter," she warned. "I mean it. When he comes back, everyone will lavish my name with praise at how gracefully I handled this situation.”

Port chuckled, all appreciation. "And so you are, Professor Agrios."

"Please, call me Ferra. You're one of us now, for better or worse."

Another laugh. "Ferra it is. And speaking of Professor Ozpin," he added, his voice lowering despite the empty room, "may I ask how he's doing?"

"I'm on my way to the hospital now," she said, "but the doctors have had nothing but good news."

"Excellent, excellent. Then I will wish you a good day, and good luck."

Ferra nodded, her smile practiced. The truth was that despite their gradual improvements, the doctors had prescribed both Ozpin and Qrow Branwen a series of potent painkillers and sleeping medications, informing her of blood pressure spikes, heart irregularities, painful muscle spasms.

_Nightmares._

Ferra hadn't considered Ozpin capable of nightmares; it implied a sense of humanity he often seemed to lack. It was unnerving to know he wasn't as invulnerable as she had always considered him to be.

_Immortal, but human._

One would think she would have remembered, but it had been a long, long time since she first met him. A boy who was not a boy.

She met the doctor in the waiting room, following him into the back corridors as he explained the latest developments. Qrow's heavier exposure meant his recovery was stilted compared to that of the headmaster, the man still an unhealthy shade of green, but the magenta color of his veins was beginning to fade to normalcy. Ozpin, Dr. Flax said, resembled himself again, but the unpredictable nature of the poison would keep him in the hospital for at least another two days. 

Another two days - at least - of Ferra remaining headmistress. She sighed heavily at the news.

"And the nightmares? Are they sleeping now?"

"Yes, now," Dr. Flax said. "The spikes on the heart monitors were quite troubling, especially for the headmaster. Had the sleeping medications failed to prevent his pulse from rising so dangerously, I would have had to consider blood thinners to lower the pressure, which carried additional risks given the drop in his blood pressure whenever he was upright for more than a few minutes. He very nearly fainted simply changing beds."

Ferra said nothing, too troubled by this information to fully process it. It was inconceivable that Ozpin was as delicate as a mere mortal. No poison in the world should be capable of killing such an obstinate old man. 

"And Mr. Branwen?"

"Mr. Branwen is still in some moderate amount of danger," Dr. Flax said. "I don't mean to make it sound impending, but the nature of this toxin is that we consider any exposure to be potentially deadly, and with the slow pace of his recovery..." The doctor shrugged. "I'm optimistic that with treatment and rehabilitation, Mr. Branwen will have no lasting effects."

"Rehabilitation?"

The doctor sighed, pausing with his hand on the door to their hospital room. "The biochemistry of this poison, Professor, is not simple. Longer term effects can be nonexistent, or they could be serious muscle issues and blood-based complications. We won't know until both men are discharged and begin their physical therapy."

"I see. Not to be a bother, Doctor, but when can I safely see Professor Ozpin back in his office?"

"In his office? Four or five days. But," he added, "that means exactly what it sounds like: working at his desk. For normal hours. No excessive movements, no wandering the academy grounds, no twelve-hour days."

"Twelve-hour days are short days for him."

"Not anymore," Dr. Flax said definitively. "He'll start with six and work gradually up to a full day. I will insist on a wireless heart monitor."

"Oh, he'll love that," Ferra muttered. "Very well. Have you had any issue keeping him in bed?"

"Not since I gave them the sleeping pills," Dr. Flax said, his serious demeanor cracking under a subtle smile. "You'll find both patients in a rather...good mood, I think."

"Thank you, Doctor. For everything."

Dr. Flax nodded at her. "If you need anything, the call button is on each side of the bed."

Ferra watched him walk off to his other appointments, feeling significantly less optimistic about everything than she had been upon waking. Another long sigh, and she pushed the door open.

She hadn't expected a single queen bed. 

She approached the patients silently, glancing at the softly beeping machinery that counted their heartbeats. The doctor was right: Ozpin was his natural tone again, the gray hospital gown matching his hair, making him all the paler. Beside him was the dark head of Qrow Branwen, the young man draped over the headmaster possessively, Ozpin's temple resting against his. Ferra wondered about the wisdom of allowing a professor and student to share a bed, but given their poisonous blood, their shared trauma, their joint haunting in sleep - she supposed she understood it well enough. 

She pulled up a chair on Ozpin's side of the bed, glancing at the book and tinted glasses on the side table, the web of wires and tubes that led from patient to machine. His blood pressure was low.

 _Too low,_ she thought.

She felt Ozpin's scroll buzz in her pocket but ignored it. She found out in the past few days how easy it became to ignore matters labeled urgent when something else truly so occupied the majority of her mind. All of Ozpin's bad habits now seemed so very reasonable. 

Not that she would ever tell him.

A sharp electronic _ping_ startled her, her eyes darting to where the headmaster's pulse had spiked, then quickly to the man himself, brown eyes open.

"Sir?" she whispered.

He blinked at her several times as though he wasn’t certain she was real, the electronics quieting as his heart rate dropped once more. 

"Ferra," he said at length. "Good morning. If it is morning, that is."

"It is, sir," she said, unable to keep from smiling at him. 

_How high are you, old man?_

"Ah," he said. "Hard to tell anymore. No clock or watch." He closed his eyes, as if finding it difficult to concentrate. 

Ferra offered him his glasses, but Ozpin shook his head, swaying lightly. 

"They only make me dizzy," he said. "I used to know the time, but then the medication made it...complicated."

He sounded drunk. Ferra was torn between finding it concerning or hilarious, slowly leaning toward the latter. 

"Time is complicated, is it, sir?"

"Oh,yes," Ozpin said firmly. "The nurses took the pills because it got complicated. Time. Took one too early and..." He shrugged, the hospital gown crunching. 

Ferra pressed her lips together to conceal a grin. So he had taken the wrong dosage and lost the privileges to self-administer. The poor thing.

"Are you sleeping, sir?"

"No, I'm talking to you," Ozpin said, as though this made all the sense in the world. "Although I _have_ been. So many dreams."

"Nightmares?"

"No. Good dreams. I dreamt Qrow turned green," he said with an unsteady laugh, glancing down at the student still asleep against him. "Oh my, I think I'm still in that dream."

"No, sir," Ferra said, with a laugh. "You're awake. In a manner of speaking."

"Oh," Ozpin said. "Then I'm also not on a boat."

"No, sir."

The headmaster nodded, closing his eyes. "I'm in the hospital. The dizziness is from low blood pressure."

"Yes, sir. Very good."

"Don't patronize me, Ferra," he said, but his tone was joking. "I think I'm a bit of a mess."

"You are, sir. It's delightful."

Ozpin chuckled. "I deserve that," he said. "You're sure I'm not dreaming?"

"Very sure."

"Oh. That's a shame. I have lovely dreams now."

"Tell me about them, sir."

"Qrow was – oh, no, that one was true. There was the one where…" Ozpin paused, a hand on his lips. "Never mind that one."

"Not willing to share?"

"Not that one. That one is mine."

Ferra studied him, squinting to make sure she actually saw the faint pink on his cheeks. "Sir, did you...have a sex dream?"

Ozpin went scarlet. _"Ferra,"_ he said, still lucid enough for embarrassment. "Don't be crude. It was nothing of the sort."

"It was something of the sort, sir. You're a terrible liar at the moment."

The headmaster fidgeted under her stare, refusing to speak.

"Something more innocent, then?" she guessed.

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response," he muttered, shooting a quick glance toward Qrow.

Ferra felt a smile grow on her face. The touch of his lips, the anxious glances –

"Sir...did you have a dream about Mr. Branwen?"

 _"No,"_ the headmaster said, still scarlet.

Too quickly.

The heart monitor beeped loudly.

Ferra laughed in earnest now, unable to restrain it. _The poor, poor thing,_ she thought, clutching at her sides. Even under the influence of narcotics, Ozpin failed to find the situation amusing, hiding his face in his pillow.

The young man glued to his side stirred, fluffy black hair impossibly mussed, red eyes glazed. "Where's the rave?" he asked.

Ozpin seemed to find the question utterly hysterical, laughing from beneath his pillow. 

"Branwen, I think you were dreaming," Ferra said. "Both of you seem to be doing quite a lot of that lately."

"Yesh," Qrow replied, the word slurred, his face breaking into a drunken grin. "Oz makes good dreams."

"Oh dear," Ferra said. 

The headmaster turned pink again. "Do I?" he asked.

"Yesh," Qrow announced. "Especially when we ki – wait... umm. Yesh. You're a rainbow."

Ferra simply raised an eyebrow, waiting for the drunken conversation to continue.

"There are worse things to be than a rainbow," Ozpin said. "Rainbows are projections of white light, after all." 

The student turned up to his headmaster, the young man's smile faltering. "What happened to your rainbow, Oz?"

Ozpin glanced at Qrow, blinking in confusion. "Do you mean the poison?"

"Poison? Oh yeah." 

Ferra leaned in. "Branwen, you were more seriously exposed."

"I don't mind," Ozpin said. "I like him green."

"Heh, green light go. Oz likes me turned on." Qrow's giggles halted abruptly, the student turning to Ferra, aghast. "You saw me naked?" 

"Exposed to the _poison,_ Branwen. Thankfully I was spared the extent of actual exposure." She paused, shrugging. "Unless you count your landing strategy in your first year."

Ozpin giggled again. "It was...quite the initiation that year."

"Y're welcome for the entertainment," he said only to Ozpin. "Sure it was a nice view."

The headmaster merely laughed and turned pink.

"Easy boys, or else I'll have to separate you two," Ferra said. 

"Noooo," Qrow whined, latching onto Ozpin more tightly. "I need him for...recovery."

"Come now, Ferra, it's helped ease his nightmares."

_And your own, old man._

"Fine, fine," Ferra said. "As long as you think it's best." She sighed, looking at her medicated boss. "You know, I could film you in this state, sell it to students, and retire on my own private island."

"How perfectly scandalous," Ozpin remarked. 

"But we already have an island, see?" Qrow replied gesturing around the room so quickly he almost caused himself to fall off the bed. "Oh shit!" He gripped Ozpin to prevent the catastrophe. "The floor! It's lava! Sharks!"

The headmaster allowed Qrow to hang on him, offering both arms to the student to keep him afloat, metaphorically and physically. 

"I don't think sharks can survive in lava, my dear," Ozpin said, with an almost serene chuckle. "So we're quite safe."

"You're both quite high," Ferra said dryly. 

"That's why we're quite safe up here," Ozpin said, not unreasonably, but missing Ferra's pun entirely. "Aren't we, Qrow?"

The student held on to Ozpin as if he were life itself, burrowing his face into the man's side. "Yes. Safe. Safe cave. Good cave. Oz, I need a flashlight. I can't see."

Ferra couldn't resist rolling her eyes as the headmaster cupped a hand against Qrow's head, holding the student against him.

"There, there," Ozpin said, running his fingers through Qrow's hair.

Ferra said nothing, merely watching the two men and their impossible-to-miss affection. She had had her suspicions regarding Ozpin's attachment to Qrow; the headmaster had had favorite students before, but Qrow was different, and reacted differently. 

There was something rather undeniable between them. 

She wondered if either of them was even aware of it.

Thankfully they were both too heavily medicated to realize it while sharing a bed, she thought, amused. Perhaps she would tactfully ask Branwen about it after they were released; goodness knows Ozpin would deny it even if he was aware of it. 

All things considered – like ethics, if one cared about such things – Qrow wouldn’t be a half-bad match for Ozpin. No one else called him out like Qrow, watched over him like Qrow.

No one made Ozpin laugh like Qrow.

_Maybe that’s something worth keeping around._

"You two are just adorable," she remarked sarcastically. 

Gentle murmurs muffled their way from Ozpin's side, almost as if a bird were humming and chirping while drifting to sleep. 

Slowly the head rolled more and more into the gentle caressing fingers - crimson eyes fluttering open when light hit the young man's face. "Did I die?"

"No such luck for your tired professors, Branwen," Ferra said, unable to keep from snarky commentary.

"Ferra, hush," the headmaster said, pulling Qrow against him in a drunken show of protection. Ozpin glanced down at the student again, squinting as though he had forgotten what Qrow looked like. 

"You need a shave," he remarked, running a finger along Qrow's face. 

The young man's eyes fluttered shut as he turned into the hand running along his cheek, the corner of Qrow's lips resting on the fingertips. "Yes, sir," he spoke softly, eyes opening to lock onto Ozpin once more. 

_Oh lord, they’re even more besotted than I imagined._

"All right, boys," Ferra said, loudly enough to startle the prolonged gaze of the two men. "I think you both need a bit of sleep without me to keep you up. Take your medication, get some rest, and next time I'll bring popcorn while you rattle off your nonsense."

Ozpin nodded sagely, not realizing exactly what she had said. "Thank you, Ferra. For taking care of my school."

"You owe me a thousand favors, old man."

The headmaster merely chuckled. "Remind me when I can think straight," he said, still trailing fingers along Qrow's scruff. 

"When Beowolves fly, then," she muttered under her breath. "Yes, sir. Rest well."

Ozpin only hummed a farewell, his medication-fogged brain too occupied with his favorite student to notice her leaving.

***

Glynda Goodwitch, upon arrival to Beacon Academy at the age of seventeen, already knew precisely the road map of her future career. Four years at Beacon, immediate hiring as a professor at her alma mater, working her way into administration until she was eventually named, at the estimated age of forty-one, headmaster of Beacon itself.

Her plan was elegant, exacting, supported by her innate talents in both the classroom and the battlefield; she quickly outstripped her classmates, was named her team's leader, making friends more easily with professors than her fellow students. There was no such thing as downtime; spare minutes between classes, at lunch, were utilized instead with a face in a textbook, or perfecting her already perfect homework assignments. The closest she came to daydreaming was studying Professor Ozpin's speeches at the beginning and end of the academic year, wondering how her own might one day sound. 

In her second year, a small notice went up on the student bulletin, posted by Professor Agrios, calling for student volunteers for intern positions in academic administration. Glynda applied the same day the notice was posted. She was accepted the next day without an interview. Rumors in the small group of interns - all of them overachieving students with impeccable grades - stated that Agrios was searching for a potential replacement.

Assistant professor to the headmaster of Beacon upon graduation. Glynda could not imagine a more perfect step toward her eventual goals. She picked up the pace of her intern assignments, completing each as efficiently as humanly possible, so that Agrios often ran out of tasks for the student to do. Two months into her second year, Professor Agrios summoned Glynda to her office; Glynda went with confidence, no reason to believe the meeting was anything but an acceptance to a position that did not officially exist.

"So," Agrios said when Glynda took a seat across from her. "You want my job."

"Yes, Professor," Glynda said, confident.

"You're not at all surprised by that question."

"No, Professor."

Professor Agrios shrugged. "I suppose you kids have been whispering about the rumors for some time. You're the first to have it confirmed. Congratulations. Your name was the first I submitted to Professor Ozpin for consideration."

Despite her predicting the confirmation of the achievement, Glynda felt the warmth of pride regardless.

"Thank you, Professor," she said.

"Don't thank me yet," Professor Agrios said. "There's been a change of plans."

Glynda, uncertain of her meaning, remained silent.

Professor Agrios sighed. "Were it up to me, Miss Goodwitch, I would grant you the position of my personal intern and train you over the next two years until my retirement. However..." 

Another sigh, this one longer and wearier. "The headmaster has changed his mind. He's hired on a professor from Atlas."

Glynda felt her shoulders fall with the news. At once, her perfect plans went awry. It could take years to work up to such a position from mere professor, especially if a young professor took Agrios' job. 

"I'm sorry, Miss Goodwitch," Agrios said, her tone sympathetic. "I really am. If there are any more changes, rest assured you remain in my sights."

"Thank you, Professor," Glynda said. Of course, she appreciated Agrios' support, but another two years and Glynda would not have that support. Glynda was annoyed, irritated that some foreign professor could so easily scoop up her dream from beneath her.

A few weeks later, Glynda was once again called into Professor Agrios' office. This time Agrios was not sympathetic; she seemed worn down, pale, quiet.

"Congratulations, Miss Goodwitch," she said. "You have the job after all."

Glynda could only stare, afraid to believe it after the position had already once been torn away from her grasp.

"Not to sound ungrateful..." Glynda began.

"You want to know what happened to the professor hired," Agrios said. "Miss Goodwitch, you're an uncommonly smart girl. You may one day find some hint of the incident, or hear some rumor about it. The official records state that no professor from Atlas was ever hired for the position."

A hint of anxiety, of fear, snuck in under Glynda's skin. 

"The first rule of being the headmaster's assistant," Agrios continued, "is that if Professor Ozpin asks, you do it and you never ask questions. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor."

"I mean it, Miss Goodwitch. Never. Sometimes he will explain it to you without prompting. Sometimes he will ask for something so bizarre the curiosity will eat you from the inside. But you cannot ask. Is this perfectly clear?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Good. Then you were never told about a professor being hired. You were the first person offered this job."

"Yes, Professor."

Agrios gave Glynda a long look. "I think you'll do fine, Miss Goodwitch."

Glynda let the conversation end there, but it echoed in her head for days after.

_What have I agreed to?_


	7. In which a confession is made and Qrow gains an unlikely ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And it's like nothing ever happened  
> Don't you tell me  
> And it’s like nothing ever happened  
> Don't you play with me
> 
> See life in the right light  
> It's a bright ride, ain't it baby?  
> One time we were so high  
> See the bright side, won't you baby?"
> 
> \- "Sadness is Taking Over", Flora Cash

"Sir."

Ozpin looked up from his desk at the stern tone of his deputy headmistress, his expression almost innocent. 

"Yes, Ferra?"

"Time."

The headmaster opened his mouth, but Ferra cut him off at the first syllable.

"The doctor said six hours a day _at most._ I've already let you work an extra fifteen minutes. That's enough for today."

He _clearly_ wanted to protest it, eyes meeting hers above the rims of his glasses with _that look,_ shoulders tense with the restraint of whatever it was he really wanted to say but was too polite to.

Then a short sigh, shoulders slumping – a show of real weariness, the one he always hid from her.

"Very well,” he said, with a brief smile. “You win. I’ll just pop down into the hospital – "

"No."

He looked at her, surprised. 

"No visiting Branwen today," Ferra said resolutely. "You've only just left the hospital bed; you don't need to spend hours sitting beside one."

Disappointment flickered over his face, eyes dropping, his mouth turning down _just_ so.

 _He must be tired,_ Ferra thought, _to be this open with me._

"I promised Qrow..."

Ferra suppressed rolling her eyes. She hadn’t mentioned a word to him of his medicated conversations with her, with Branwen, with all the suspicions she had regarding their relationship. Branwen was obvious enough about it – about most things, really – but Ozpin…

If Ozpin recalled any of it, he would pretend otherwise. 

_Branwen didn’t deserve that._

The thought surprised her, but she couldn’t argue otherwise. 

"I'll visit him."

"You?" the headmaster said, raising his eyebrows. He chewed on his bottom lip as if to prevent laughing. "Well. You do have a lovely bedside manner..."

"Can it, old man, or I'll remind you of some of the things you told me while you were on those sleeping pills." 

Ozpin coughed, barely concealing the faint pink that rose to his cheeks. 

_So he did remember._

"Yes, I'm a veritable wicked witch," Ferra said, rising from her chair. “Now, power down the computer for the night and open whatever secret door you pretend isn’t in this office.”

Now Ozpin looked truly shocked, eyes widening as he looked up. “I thought…”

“I know, I know,” Ferra said, with a sigh. “I said I didn’t want to know. Well, maybe my mind’s changed. Watching you die on the floor in this lonely tower – “

She cut off the thought, shaking her head.

“Maybe my mind’s changed.”

Ozpin said nothing for a moment, simply noting her words, her reaction. Then he gave a tiny nod, with a smile to match.

"Yes, dear," the headmaster said lightly, powering down the monitors that floated over his desk. Another tap of the keys, and he motioned behind her to where the wall had split.

“You needn’t watch me climb into bed,” Ozpin said, with that note of humor. “I assure you, I do not have the energy to object.”

Ferra snorted. “That, sir, I highly doubt. Besides, I’m only making sure you don’t need anything. Water. Tea. Aspirin.”

“I’m not allowed aspirin,” Ozpin said, reaching for his cane as he rose. “My blood pressure.”

“Right.” Ferra sighed again, irritated she had forgotten that. “I can at least help you up.”

“I hardly need – “

She caught his arm as he stumbled, falling heavily against her.

“Oh,” he said.

“Your blood pressure, sir,” Ferra said, easing him back up.

He managed an exhaled laugh, brief and breathless. “Yes, well. Perhaps you are right about not visiting the hospital tonight.”

“Not unless you want me to leave you there overnight.”

Ozpin smiled even as she helped him across the room, to the apartment she always knew existed but pretended not to, just like all the secrets she knew he had and ignored. She gazed around the room when he pushed the door open, studying the books on the shelves along the wall, the emerald green bed, the frame an antiquated style, the little metal boxes and trinkets on the dresser, like pieces of history.

His history.

Her eyes prickled unexpectedly, feeling the years in the apartment, untouched by other lives.

_How long had he really been alone?_

“I’m sorry.”

Ozpin, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, looked up quickly, his expression now one of open concern. “Whatever are you apologizing for?”

“I…” Her throat closed and she swallowed, annoyed at her own emotions. “I’m sorry for not…wanting to know.”

Ozpin’s face smoothed into something unreadable, unsurprised. “You mustn’t blame yourself, Ferra. My secrets come with…consequences.”

“So does ignorance,” she said, her tone harsh. “You should be able to rely on me when you have suspicions about a new hire. I shouldn’t have to watch – “

She shook her head, pushing back at the sudden tears that she didn’t want to shed. “You shouldn’t have to rely on a student as a bodyguard!”

Ozpin listened without a word, folding his hands on the top of his cane. 

Ferra sniffed, wiping quickly at her eyes. 

“My dear,” Ozpin said quietly, “I gave you a choice many years ago, and I have done my best to respect that.”

“What if it was the wrong choice?” Ferra blurted.

_What if I could have helped him more?_

“What if Branwen is stronger than me?”

Ozpin lifted his cane, the shaft retracting into the handle, which he placed on his bedside. Beside it, he placed his glasses, rubbing briefly at his eyes.

“Ferra, you always have the freedom to change your mind,” he said. “But I would ask that you not use my death as reason to do it.”

“Why not?” she countered.

“Because I asked for this,” he said.

Ferra sniffed, waiting for him to continue.

“I took this on voluntarily,” he said, his voice soft. “This was my decision. Perhaps it was naïve, but it was mine to make. I…don’t want you to change your mind simply because you’re worried about me.”

“Shouldn’t _someone_ be?” she asked. 

“I’ll live. In one way or another.”

She bristled. “You make it sound like the mere fact you’ll be alive is enough! Sir…aren’t you tired of being lonely?”

He raised alarmed eyes to her face. 

“Don’t deny it, sir. I raised you. I know better.”

He looked away, making an exasperated sound in his throat. “Really, Ferra…”

“I don’t care how old your soul is,” she said, marching into the kitchen. She needed to do _something_ that wasn’t standing in his doorway and crying. She seized the kettle and placed it in the sink to refill, digging in the nearby drawers.

From the bed, Ozpin watched, lips parted. 

“What are you doing?” he asked at last, as she put the full kettle on the stove, flicking the burner to life.

“Making you tea,” she said, finding at last a drawer of tea boxes. “Chamomile used to put you right out.”

From across the room, Ozpin turned faintly pink.

“Now,” she said, digging for honey and a spoon, “go get changed for bed.”

“Ferra, I really – “

 _”Now,”_ she snapped.

And Ozpin smiled. Without a word, he rose from the bed, disappearing into what she presumed was a bathroom.

When he emerged again, he wore an old, worn green bathrobe and slippers, taking the cup of tea from her without question.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Ferra said curtly. “Now, into bed.”

Ozpin chuckled, but obeyed, placing the tea on his beside table as he curled under the covers.

“You haven’t tucked me into bed in…oh, almost twenty years,” he said.

“Drink the tea. And I hardly needed to, did I? You weren’t a child at all, despite looking like one.”

Ozpin gave her an amused look over the mug, but he drank. “I never claimed to be a child.”

“No, but you didn’t deny it either,” Ferra said, sitting on the side of the bed. “I should have known better. Too clever for your own good. Drink.”

Ozpin lifted the mug to his lips again. “When we first met, it was…complicated. I hadn’t fully merged with this host. He was…frightened. And he appreciated your efforts. We both did.”

Ferra took a long breath, recalling those days so long ago, when she sat at Ozpin’s beside then, when he was a small, silver-haired boy with wide eyes and too-formal speech. 

_A prodigy,_ they told her.

An immortal, he told her.

She stopped calling him by name after that.

Ozpin rubbed his eyes, tipping the last of his tea down his throat. “It’s strange,” he said softly. “When I make chamomile, it never seems to make me this sleepy. Perhaps you have a touch, Ferra.”

“Oh, I do,” she said, pulling the covers over him. “A touch of whiskey.”

Ozpin blinked, and then he chuckled, falling back onto his pillow. “Giving alcohol to a teenager. Ferra, I’m shocked.”

“If you had children, you’d understand,” she said.

His expression changed – almost unnoticed for its brevity.

“Did I say something stupid?” she asked.

“No,” Ozpin said, with a smile. “Not at all. But I believe you just implied that I was something of a son to you.”

“The son I never wanted,” Ferra said. "Good evening then, sir. And you had better _actually_ sleep, or I'll have the doctors tie you to bed."

“Good night, Ferra,” came the quiet, drowsy reply. "Do tell him that I wanted to come myself."

She rose and went to the door, flicking the lights off behind her.

Under other circumstances, Ferra would not have so quickly volunteered to see her most troublesome student, but tonight it was almost necessary - to keep Ozpin behaving, and to ask Qrow something that she could no longer ignore.

The nurse at the front desk of the hospital merely nodded at her when Ferra slipped past, the professor familiar with the quarantined room. She opened the door without knocking, closing it firmly behind her. 

She didn't want any nosy medical staff overhearing the conversation she had planned.

"Good evening, Mr. Branwen," she said unceremoniously, plopping into the chair beside his bed.

***

Qrow jerked up in bed the moment he heard the door open.

"Hey, Doc, I need more – " He cut off, shaggy blonde hair catching his eye. 

“Evening, Branwen,” she said evenly, giving him a sideways glance as she shut the door behind her. “You look like hell.”

"Ferra! Hey. Is it evening? Where's Oz? Is he coming?" 

The questions came in a desperate rush. Qrow had spent the last day in some constant state of purgatory, the drugs dwindling in his system as the doctors weened him off – the border between not totally sober and the resulting excruciating pain as the blisters popped.

Yet despite the physical pain, the true agony was his sudden solitude in captivity, unable to roam, disallowed access to mental stimulation, completely alone.

Sure, the student was permitted his scroll, however the restricted access rendered the device no more entertaining than a brick. He’d watched every of the 162 videos on site, including “Plant and Mineral Nomenclature: A How to Guide” – twice – and aside from a few games he had long ago played to death, the scroll was useless.

Qrow was convinced by tomorrow if he was not provided more inhibiting substances, he would drive himself mad. Already he was so desperate for something to preoccupy his attention, he swore he could kiss Ferra.

Maybe if he did, she’d hit him hard enough that he wouldn’t regain consciousness until tomorrow.

"Easy, Branwen," the professor said, settling in the stiff hospital chair. She eyed him analytically. "Well. You look...better. I think. A little less green, which may disappoint your headmaster. But still…you’re not sleeping, are you?"

“Yeah, not really,” Qrow said, scratching absently at his neck, his arms, where the blisters continued to heal. “How’s Oz? Is he okay? Is he gonna be late?”

He needed Oz to relax.

He needed to know Oz was okay.

Ferra sighed.

"Professor Ozpin won't be coming tonight," she said. "I – and Dr. Flax – have forbidden it. I've come in his place to keep you from bouncing off the walls."

The young man fell back against his inclined hospital bed turning his disappointment – and glare – to his feet.

 _Stuck. Alone,_ a voice in his head reminded him. 

He told it to kindly shut the fuck up and go to hell. 

_Is Ozpin okay? Of course or they wouldn't ban him from coming. Unless they sent Ferra because he relapsed and is worse than before in a different quarantine room? Is he safe there? What if whoever was behind Bane sent someone else? Could he have been acting alone? No. It was too orchestrated. Ozpin needs to be constantly protected. He needs a guard, he needs me..._

_I need to get out of here. For him and for me. I can't take it anymore. I am going crazy. If I skin myself, would this fucking thing be gone? ...At this point it is almost worth trying. Think of it like preening. Then I wouldn't be contagious. Then I could watch over Ozpin. Then I could –_

"How much longer do I have to stay?" he asked aloud. His eyes darted back and forth from foot to foot, mind reeling in overdrive.

"Oh, don't look so bloody sad about it," Ferra said, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure he'll be here first thing in the morning whether I forbid it or not. And the doctor said you don't have much longer to wait. Just until the blisters are gone. Then you can go back to making my life a bit more miserable with your misbehavior and your terrible influence on Professor Ozpin."

She sighed again.

“Something on your mind?” Qrow asked, catching the look. “Whatever the prank was, I sure as hell didn’t do it this time.”

"No, it’s not that. Look, Branwen," Ferra said. "I have a question for you, and I'd like at least _some_ manner of honesty, if you can manage such a thing."

Heaving a sigh, he offered a half-smile in attempt to brighten his mood. "If you're asking me to rat myself out on some _other_ prank, the answer is no."

"No, this is a bit more...serious than you simply breaking all my rules," the professor said. 

“Spill it, Ferra,” Qrow said, wincing as he repositioned. The blister on his back was ready to pop, and it was going to hurt like a bitch when it did. Maybe he could persuade Ferra to up his medication again.

Oz would. In the morning, when he came by.

 _Only another twelve hours until that,_ Qrow thought miserably.

***

It occurred to Ferra suddenly that she had no idea when Branwen had started calling her by her first name – too late to correct it now, in any case. She had rehearsed how she would ask the question, but now that the moment was here, she loathed to say it.

"When you and Professor Ozpin were...under the influence, so to speak, you two...had some curious things to say. If you were just any student and professor, I would have dismissed it as the rambling of two medicated idiots. But you two..."

She paused, trying to remember what she had rehearsed. 

"I'll just ask it directly, then. Branwen, what are your intentions toward Professor Ozpin?"

Qrow shot her a sideways glance.

"To graduate," he said.

 _Damn me for using polite phrasing,_ Ferra thought irritably.

"Of all his habits to pick up," she muttered, "it had to be his evasion tactics. Allow me to word it in a way even _he_ wouldn't be able to conveniently misinterpret: Branwen, are you in love with Ozpin?"

Qrow's eyes flickered up to Ferra, all intensity once more. 

Sober enough to understand the question.

"I don't see how that's any of your business regardless of the answer," he drawled.

"It's not," Ferra said flatly. "And goodness knows I wish it would stay that way. But if you haven't noticed, things that are the headmaster's business eventually end up my business. If you're inclined to simply toy with him and leave him, I'd like to make it my business now and save myself a spot of bother."

"That's not what I'm after, so don't worry about that," Qrow said shortly, irritation creeping into his voice at the accusation.

Ferra noted the sharpness of his tone, satisfied by it. 

"I didn't think you were," she said, "but I have to make sure about these things, you know, given how fond of you he is. _Too_ fond of you, really," she added, trusting – for once – in Qrow's discretion. "I just needed to know your intentions, one way or the other."

Qrow stared at her for a long while. Eventually, he offered small shrug. "I won't cross any lines he won't want to cross with me."

"Yes, well," Ferra said, snorting. "Good luck with _that._ You're going to need it, given how utterly _opaque_ that man can be in these matters. One word of advice: wait until you've graduated. He wouldn't dare be so foolish as to involve himself with a student."

Qrow eyed her suspiciously; however, a moment’s study and he slowly relaxed. "I wasn't going to make a move until then. He's told me about how he fired professors before. Including Lesca." 

_I'm not going to give him a legitimate reason to turn me down._

Ferra could read between the lines well enough.

There was hope for the boy after all.

"So you've given it some thought. Good man. I'd offer you more advice if I had it," she said, "but to be honest, this is one part of the headmaster's private life to which I can happily say I am ignorant."

A pause, and then – 

"Then again, if he's having dreams about you, perhaps you stand a chance after all."

"He has dreams about me?" Qrow asked immediately. "What kind of dreams?" 

"You were sitting right – oh." Ferra paused, recalling the conversation in question. "Right. You were both out of your wits. He said something about pleasant dreams, and when I asked about them, he refused to tell me. Bit rude, really."

She shrugged, almost tempted to make Qrow wait a few seconds longer before she continued, so eager did the student seem for the answers.

"He's a terrible liar when he's on that medication. Quite a lovely change from himself, really. Anyway, I asked what sort of dream and he blushed like a girl and gave you a very unsubtle glance. I can do the math, Branwen."

Qrow didn't even attempt hiding his grin.

“He wants me,” he blurted, wiggling gleefully in his bed; a _POP_ echoed, abruptly ending the joy with a hefty curse.

 _"FUCK!"_

He lurched forward, green seeping from a blister on his back. He rocked back and forth in pain, yet his lips maintained a semblance of a smile.

"Oh for - _really,_ Branwen – “

"Oz...he... _fucking hell_ \- he’s interested. He wants me..." 

Ferra scrambled with the bandages and towels on the side table, pulling on a pair of gray nitrile gloves. 

"Yes, yes, it's all _terribly_ exciting – will you SIT STILL, Branwen – "

Sighing dramatically, the professor carefully applied a towel to the wound, wrinkling her nose at the sight. 

"Don't move," she warned, reaching for a large adhesive bandage. She fumbled with the wrapper in the gloves, applying it over the wound as gingerly as she could, while Qrow ignored her commands and wriggled, a grin plastered over his face.

"For goodness' sake," she said, peeling the gloves from her fingers and tossing them in the brightly labeled trash can beside the table, turning to regard him with hands on her hips.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," she said. "One dream isn't a love confession, Branwen. I've known Professor Ozpin for a long time and not once has he shown any such interest in another person. So, yes, your case is different, but I would advise you to tread lightly. He may not even realize how he feels himself."

Qrow fell back on his pillow, the smile stuck in place. "Regardless, he's a good kisser..."

"He's _what?"_

Ferra stared, certain she had misheard the student. 

"Should I even _ask_ how the hell you would know something like that?"

The student waved a dismissive hand. "It was an accident. We were in costume and didn't know. Oz still doesn't. Don't plan on telling him either."

"Costume?"

Ferra narrowed her eyes, thinking. Ozpin was beyond a mere creature of habit – he kept to a somewhat neurotic schedule, including his clothing. A costume would have to mean – 

"The masquerade?" she asked. "You – oh, good lord, I don't believe it."

The laughter came without warning, the thought of Ozpin mistaking Qrow Branwen for – well, whatever it was that Ozpin may be interested in.

_Questionable men, apparently._

"Well, damn me," she said. "Never knew the old man had it in him. And at a school dance. Tsk, tsk..."

"Shshshshshsh." Qrow held up his hand in her direction as if to quiet her. "Don't tell him," he ordered, hand flopping to the bed. "At the time, I didn't know either...didn't appreciate it when I found out. But well – now things have changed, and I'm hoping for a repeat.”

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Ferra said, shaking her head but unable to shake her smile. So Ozpin could fall in love – or at least, he had the ability to remember.

She thought about the boy with silver hair, who spoke to her in words beyond his years, who lived alone in a great tower he had built in another life.

Alone.

Perhaps, not alone anymore.

"Just don't get caught, Branwen. I can't lift a finger to save your butt if he finds out you're planning – well, perhaps it's better I don't know."

She sighed again, studying the green-tinged student.

"But if you were to _accidentally_ slip what costume you're wearing..."

Qrow shrugged. "Same one as last time. It worked once, so figured same thing."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Branwen, if you tell me I can make sure to get you the opportunity. That's what I'm trying to say." She restrained rolling her eyes. "So much for plausible deniability."

"Oooh." The student nodded finally catching up from the fog in his brain. "Volodymyr Y Ddraig Goch. Hard to miss."

"The _pirate?_ With that hat and all the feathers – oh no, that _dance – "_

Ferra cut off the barrage of disbelieving objections, staring at the student. 

"...you looked much older in that costume," she said at last. 

"Thanks," he said with a cocky grin. "Got good moves too."

"I'd rather not think about _your moves,"_ Ferra said, defaulting to annoyance when Qrow became too smug for words. 

Still, she remembered that dance only too well, almost shocked at the intimacy of it – and from Ozpin, of all people. So Qrow wasn't wrong to be cocky; he already knew from personal experience that he had appreciative chemistry with the headmaster. Now it was only a matter of getting Ozpin himself to see it.

"Well," Ferra said. "You have five months until you graduate and to convince Professor Ozpin of all this nonsense. I don't envy you – I can't imagine it will be easy. But I'm willing to help you. From the sidelines. Unseen."

Another pause while she processed all this information. 

"I knew it," she said, suddenly feeing smug herself. "I knew the bastard got some action that night. Oh, he played coy, but I bloody well knew it..."

The student snickered at Ferra's enthusiasm, detailing, "Yeah... it was a lot of fun until I realized who he was and took off." Attempting to slowly settle back into bed, he jerked forward with another curse. "Hey Ferra, could you turn up the nob on the drugs?"

Ferra peered at the level of the IV drip, sighing before pressing the button on the monitor to increase the painkillers. Qrow was only on half-strength, and Ferra recognized his winces as genuine, the wound on his back angry.

"Try to lay on your side," she said, still shaking her head at the unexpected turn of this conversation. "I still can't quite believe it – Professor Ozpin of all people. And what in the _world_ was he thinking, at the school masquerade?”

"He was thinking..." Qrow began gingerly shifting to his side, pausing for the medication to take effect. "That there was no way a student could look and dance like that. Or figure out his identity. He was wrong on both accounts, but I was wrong that my hot date was some sweet young thing I could take back to my dorm, so there's that."

"Well," Ferra said, "you're right about that – I didn't suspect you were a student either."

She furrowed her brows at hearing Professor Ozpin described as a _hot date,_ unable to restrain her snicker. The man was so stoic about anything romantic or otherwise that she couldn't _quite_ imagine it happening the way Branwen claimed – and yet she recalled the headmaster's medicated blush and supposed stranger things had happened. 

"So tell me, Branwen," she said, leaning to rest her elbow on the side table, her chin cupped in her palm, "what is your plan? You'll need a foolproof one, given how much of a fool Ozpin can be."

The young man shrugged, his head to flopping carelessly to his shoulder, heavy now medication. "I'ma wait until I graduate, then make my move when we're alone in his office. Tell him how I feel, tell him why it isn't bad anymore, why it will work out, blah blah blah. Point out how I know he wants it too. Simple."

"Oh, bless you for an idiot," Ferra said, shaking her head. "You can't just spring this nonsense on him and expect him to swoon in your arms. He isn't one of your simpering classmates."

She sighed shortly. "You'll need to give him reasons to start thinking about you in a romantic light. Sure, you may have gotten lucky at the masquerade – well, a _little_ lucky – but if he didn't know it was you, he won't connect the chemistry to your name. He needs to be _seduced,_ Branwen. Subtly. Not exactly your forte."

Qrow attempted an exaggerated roll of his eyes, only succeeding in nearly falling out of his bed. "We _have_ chemistry. I aced that with him. Multiple times. I've seen the way he looks at me...the way I look at him. I'd kill for him. I _did_ kill for him. Even if his life weren't on the line. He doesn't pull away when I get close. He wants me near him and I want to be near him. By his side. Well, preferably behind him," Qrow added, with an intoxicated giggle. "He's really good at moving his hips when he dances..."

"Oh, good lord, you hopeless thing," Ferra said, feeling herself blush at the student's eager description of her boss. 

"I'm _quite_ sure I don't need to hear the details," she said, absolutely wishing to ask for the details. "Just...be subtle, Branwen. Know when to pull back. And for heaven's sake, before you do anything stupid or grand, ask me if it's a good idea. You can start your evil plan first thing in the morning when the headmaster visits, provided you are coherent enough to function. Then again, you are a little adorable in this state, so perhaps the drugs would be an advantage..."

"Ssssure," he slurred with a sloppy smile, obviously not understanding a thing. "Are you coming with Oz tomorrow or do I get him alone?"

 _So much for advice,_ she thought ruefully.

"I'll let you have him to yourself," Ferra said, snickering at Qrow's devolving state. "And perhaps I should leave you tonight to get some proper sleep. You'll need the energy chasing after Ozpin."

A happy bobble head nodded in agreement. "Nigh' nigh' Ferra," he said waving a lazy hand in the air. "Tell him to bring condoms. We need a condom-ent fight again..."

Ferra only gave the medicated student a soft pat on the head, careful not to touch his skin, her voice soft and obliging. 

"I'll tell him nothing of the sort, my dear. Now do get some rest."

She rose, still shaking her head at the unexpected confirmation of her almost unfounded suspicions. Professionally speaking, it was irresponsible for her to encourage Branwen in the slightest. But in a few months, he would be his own man, so to speak, and Ozpin would have no real reason for turning him away, unless of course the headmaster did not return Branwen's feelings.

But if his glow at the masquerade had been any hint, if she did not observe the obvious affection he bestowed over and over upon Branwen, if Ozpin's usual riddles did not so often sound like ambiguous flirting –

No, she thought, closing Branwen's door behind her, Ozpin had no excuse. 

She didn't expect to feel so strongly about the possibility of the couple, telling herself at first that it was simply a morbid curiosity – and yet she found the idea genuinely charming, almost disgustingly so. And, she mused, her usually forgotten maternal instincts resurfacing, Ozpin had been alone entirely too long. Ferra might be his friend, but Branwen _understood_ him, in a way Ferra could not and with the same astronomical level of stubbornness as the headmaster himself. 

They would be a perfect pair of obnoxious men who could drive each other crazy instead of her. 

That, she decided, sounded heavenly.


	8. In which Qrow deals with isolation and Ozpin's latest scheme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back after a bout of illness! Thank you for your patience! <3
> 
> "In broad daylight  
> I swear I'm alright, I'm alright  
> Picking my line  
> Just endeavouring to get it right  
> In daylight  
> I swear I'm alright, I'm alright  
> Taking my time  
> Just been trying to change my mind"
> 
> \- "Infinite Games", Zola Blood

Sweat rolled down from furrowed brow into closed eyes, body writhing within the sheets, contorting in ways unnatural. A sharp gasp, back arching off the hospital bed, awoke the form, mechanical blips racing, pacing his adrenaline.

Despite the reassurances otherwise, Qrow's nightmares clawed at him, dragging him to the depths of one overwhelming conclusion: he was responsible for the attempt on Ozpin's life.

"It was political, not personal."

"It was planned well before you even began at Beacon."

"It was inevitable."

"It was just bad luck."

_His_ bad luck.

_Beep, beep, beep,_ the machine sprinted on, reeling faster than before.

Had Qrow not followed the headmaster's every move this year, shadowing him at every corner, Ozpin would not have been tainted with the young man's curse.

Had Ozpin not been preoccupied with protecting Qrow, Bane Scheele would have never made it into the tower.

Had Ozpin not relied so heavily on Qrow protecting him, Ozpin would have seen all the signs - and acted on them - beforehand.

Ozpin would have had more focus to handle the situation before Scheele could make a move.

Ozpin would have known the man's semblance before he stepped onto Beacon soil.

Ozpin would never have allowed scum like that on the premises.

Qrow guessed Ozpin would waive it away as needing to lure the man privately in order to take him down. But it was a lie. There were other ways. There had to be.

If Qrow weren't there.

The constant infernal beeping of the monitors counted down the half-seconds until Qrow lurched over the side of his bed. A grotesque montage of greens, browns, and poisoned magentas painted the floor, the aromas strong enough to turn stomach again, but almost a welcomed change from the ever-present scent of cleaning products.

Once Ozpin had been released from the hospital - _out of sight, out of mind_ they had said -

Out of Qrow's sight. Never out of his mind.

Once Ozpin had been released, Qrow had developed a morning schedule: bathe in sweat, wake from nightmare, debate whether he was still in a nightmare, ponder life, and say bye-bye to whatever he had been forced to eat last.

It was only healthy if he was trying to keep his girlish figure.

_Beep, beep, beep._

Yeah, right.

Qrow was a fucking mess.

He couldn't function with or without Ozpin. 

With him, he would curse the man into an early grave. And that just wasn't an option.

Without him, Qrow's mind would continue to spiral out of control - his new overprotective streak magnifying to an obsession of _what ifs,_ slowly driving the man mad.

_Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep_ Qrow watched the schizophrenic monitors climb to their daily peaks, the drone a relentless _beeeeeep_ by now.

But it would keep Ozpin alive.

_Beepbeep, beep, beep._

Theoretically.

Unless he needed Qrow to protect him.

Because if Qrow weren't there, Bane could have succeeded.

_Beepbeepbeep,_ interrupted his thoughts.

_For fuck’s sake, would you shut the fuck up?!_

He shoved his head under his pillow, to scream or suffocate, but either way just hoping the noise would stop.

***

Qrow, still hunched over the bedside, feebly punched the monitor in front of him. The metal wheels squeaked, but ultimately rolled back into place, the young man lacking the strength to roll fucking equipment on wheels.

Maybe if he would stop vomiting, he would recover his strength.

Maybe if he stopped thinking, he would stop vomiting.

The only way to stop thinking is to know Ozpin is safe.

The only way to know Ozpin is safe, is to watch him.

The only way keep Ozpin safe is to not be around him.

The only way to watch him and not be around him is to rip out your eyes and leave them on his desk.

...

Maybe.

But Qrow couldn't be certain his eyes too wouldn't carry the damn curse.

Qrow screamed in frustration, only a choked gurgle leaving his lips, the stomach acid lining his throat eating away at the thin membrane protecting his vocal cords.

Qrow cursed - a mere whisper, shoving himself haphazardly back upright on the bed.

If Qrow didn't see Ozpin soon, Oz would be safe. If Qrow didn't see Ozpin soon, Qrow was going to lose his gods damned mind.

He needed to know the man was well. He needed to know he wasn't in danger. He needed to know he wasn't sick. 

...he needed to know his silver hair still brightened the room when he walked in. He needed to know his skin still rivaled porcelain in its perfection. He needed to know his warm brown gaze could still calm Qrow when he couldn't do it himself.

Head to toe, Qrow ached to see Ozpin. Head through heart, Qrow knew he shouldn't.

Qrow's internal agony was cut short by the _bing_ of the quarantine door opening - right on time.

"Mr. Branwen. Are you alright?" the doctor asked for the thousandth time.

"Yep. Just a nightmare," Qrow responded for the thousandth time.

The doctor nodded, adding, "It's to be expected..."

_...given what you've gone through. They will subside over time, however, if you need something to sleep..._

Qrow finished the dialogue in his head for the thousandth time.

"Thanks, Doc. I'll be fine."

Qrow felt the doctor's glance at the floor beside Qrow's bed with disapproval.

"If this persists, I will have to give you something. You need to eat..."

"I do eat. Half the damn time through one of your fucking tubes," Qrow interrupted, annoyed with this new threat.

"And keep it down," the doctor finished, this time one step ahead of the student.

Qrow rolled his eyes.

"Mr. Branwen, your recovery is being personally monitored by the headmaster of this wonderful academy. I only hope it not necessary to report 'unsatisfactory' under motivation."

The silence met with the statement echoed the agreement between the two men.

"Do you have disturbing thoughts, feelings, in addition to your nightmares related to the event?"

"Define 'disturbing'?" Qrow asked sarcastically.

Unfazed, the doctor continued, "Do you experience mental or physical distress when you think about the incident?"

"Nope. It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside."

"When you think about Professor Ozpin?

"Do you ever stop asking questions?"

"Have you always avoided trauma related-cues?"

"I don't have trauma," Qrow growled.

"Would you act the same way facing the same situation again?"

"Without even fucking thinking about it."

"What do you think about?"

"Getting the fuck out of here."

"Then what?"

"Protect O... myself."

"'Protect' yourself," the doctor repeated.

"Yeah, you got a problem with it?"

Without warning, the doctor smacked his clipboard against the portable desk between the two men.

Qrow's muscles tightened, his body ready to fight, to extinguish the harsh noise, no matter how small the threat.

"Sorry, a bug," the doctor remarked offhandedly, and scribbled something on his clipboard.

_Yeah right, asshole._ Qrow gritted his teeth. "So much for 'quarantine,'" Qrow growled sardonically.

"Have you ever considered suicide or self-harm?"

"Does alcoholism count? ‘Cause I would kill a man for a drink right now."

The doctor locked eyes with Qrow at the poorly placed joke before he sighed deeply, clasping his clipboard to his chest.

"Mr. Branwen, I regret to inform you demonstrate signs of every symptom of PTSD."

"Great. What drug do I need so I can blow this joint?"

The doctor shook his head at the student's misunderstanding. "No...it’s not that simple. Do you know what PTSD stands for?"

"Popular, trendy, sexy, and dangerous."

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"I'm not stressed, I've been jerking off."

"Mr. Branwen, if you would _please_ take this a bit more seriously."

The doctor took the patient's silence as an accord and continued, "PTSD develops after someone experiences a traumatic event in their life. Often times it could be related to a life-threatening event. Does this sound familiar?"

"Yeah, my childhood," he said dryly.

"So you believe this stems from your childhood?"

"Nothing is 'stemming' from anything. I’m fine. My childhood was fine. I’m still alive. And I don't give a shit about putting my life on the line or I wouldn't have wanted to become a Huntsman."

"Then the symptoms are related to Professor Ozpin's health."

Qrow remained silent, unsure of what to say or how to deflect without potentially revealing truth.

The doctor relieved Qrow by continuing, "Therapy in place of medication is recommended in your particular case given your history with substance abuse."

"I'm not seeing any damn shrink."

"I cannot force you to cooperate, however, I will recommend you seek treatment before it affects your career. Huntsmen need to be reliable on the field. This means they must have an outlet for - "

"It's called alcohol. Does wonders. You should try it sometime."

"How long have you been drinking?"

"Long enough to know it works."

The doctor nodded, once again making his notes, undoubtedly to pass on to Ozpin. Both men knew Qrow would never change his ways, so the point was moot.

"In that case, I'll give you something for the stomach, a bit more for the anxiety, and send a meal in two hours."

"Peachy," Qrow said simply wishing to be rid of the man, the room, and the hospital altogether.

The doctor nodded once more, leaving to fulfill his requests.

Qrow looked at the mess on the floor. This was going to be a long recovery.

***

Professor Ozpin stared vacantly at the glow of his monitors, tapping his mug against his desk.

One more week.

It felt like such a long time since Qrow Branwen had last crashed into Ozpin’s window, cawing to interrupt a conference call; ages since Qrow swaggered in from the elevator, grinning at the chess set already waiting for him; an eternity since he had poured himself a cup of coffee in the seat across – 

Ferra.

In the seat across from his.

_Oh. Had she been speaking?_

Ozpin cleared his throat and sat up. “I’m sorry, Ferra, you were saying?”

She gave him a flat look. “I haven’t said a word in ten minutes, sir. I’ve just been waiting for you to stop daydreaming.”

_Hard to deny that,_ Ozpin mused, with a quiet chuckle. “I suppose I was.”

“And the lovesick sighing.”

“I was not – ” Ozpin cut off the protest, coughing lightly. 

Ferra’s expression became strangely satisfied, as though this once, she wasn’t annoyed by his inattention.

“I understand, sir. You miss him.”

Ozpin regarded her cautiously. _What is this strain of gentle concern?_

It was distinctly un-Ferralike. 

And quite suspicious.

“Are you still concerned about my health?” he asked, pouring a fresh cup of coffee.

Ferra rolled her eyes. “I’m always worried about your health, you stubborn old man.”

“Then why the prolonged kindness?”

“I thought you believed humanity was inherently good.”

“So I do,” Ozpin said, “but with you, I always made an exception.”

Ferra bristled. “Sir, you may be as tall as a tree, but so help me, I will climb up and smack you.”

Ozpin laughed aloud, placing his mug on the desk with shaking hands. “I believe you would,” he said.

“I preferred you when you were shorter than me,” Ferra said. “You still had that awful sense of humor, but I could smack you upside the head. Now I need a stepladder and heels to reach.”

Ozpin chuckled. “This is the tallest I’ve been in a number of lifetimes. I confess it’s nice to be able to reach the highest shelves on my bookcase again. I am sorry, by the way, for the daydreaming.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Ferra muttered. “I was done for today anyway, and I know you’re waiting for me to leave so you can sneak back down to the hospital.”

“You know me so well.”

“Just…don’t stay long, sir.”

“You have my word.”

She gave him a doubtful look as she rose, heading to the elevator. 

“Ferra?”

She turned as she pressed for the elevator.

“Why is it that you never call me by name?”

She cocked her head. “Well. I guess because you told me you were a thousand years old and some fragment of an old god.”

Ozpin smiled. “I’m not a god, Ferra.”

She snorted. “Don’t I know that now. I don’t know, sir. It’s an old habit.”

“Then if you don’t mind – if you consider us friends – perhaps you can change that habit.”

She sighed, like this favor he asked took all her effort and had none of her willingness.

“I suppose I can,” she huffed, as the elevator pinged.

“Thank y – “

Ozpin’s words were cut off as a parade of people toppled out of the open doors, all limbs and squawking voices. 

_Team STRQ. Of course._

Immediately, Ferra slipped past them, waving as the elevator doors closed. “Ozpin,” she said, “good luck.”

From the floor, Taiyang Xiao Long and Summer Rose untangled themselves, while Raven Branwen stood, arms crossed, glaring at them before turning hostile eyes to their headmaster.

_I see her fondness for me is as moving as ever._

“Team STRQ minus the…quartet,” Ozpin said. “How nice of you to sneak onto a private elevator at an opportune moment to see me. Please, have a seat. There is coffee, for those who drink it.”

Slowly, sheepishly, Taiyang and Summer made their way to his desk, Raven following with an air of one who wanted to be anywhere else.

Taiyang immediately poured a cup of coffee, glancing self-consciously toward Ozpin as he reached for the sugar; obediently, the headmaster offered his attention toward the girls.

“I suspect,” he said, “you’ve come to ask about Mr. Branwen.”

“He’s in the hospital,” Raven said flatly, refusing to sit down. 

“He is.”

Raven’s face darkened. “It’s your fault.”

“Raven!” Summer hissed.

“It is.”

The team looked up as one, three identically concerned faces – although Raven hid it quickly.

“I apologize for not reaching out to you sooner,” Ozpin said. “I was out of contact for some time.”

Summer watched him, silver eyes knowing. “You were with him, weren’t you, sir?”

_Hmm. It’s getting impossible to hide anything from Team STRQ these days._

“I was out of reach,” the headmaster said, “but nevertheless, that is hardly an excuse to make you wait for information regarding Qrow.”

Summer took the deflection in stride, falling silent.

“Qrow is indeed in the hospital, and he is scheduled for release in a week. He…was involved in a minor accident, and I take full responsibility for his condition.”

“What happened, sir?” Taiyang asked.

Ozpin drew a long breath in from his nose. How much should he tell them? He would have preferred nothing at all, but he could not decide if that was due to protecting them or avoiding his own guilt.

“Qrow was poisoned,” Ozpin said at length, “in the act of saving my life.”

Silence fell, the team exchanging glances.

“How, exactly?” Raven asked.

Ozpin cleared his throat. “There was an attempt on my life, and now I owe it to Qrow. If he wishes to tell you more, I will not object to it. But this is highly classified information, and so I merely ask you speak about it with the utmost caution.”

Raven snorted. “The doctors won’t even let us get near him. We can’t ask him about anything.”

“It’s true,” Summer said sadly. “We tried. The mean doctor with the blonde hair wouldn’t even tell us if he was okay.”

“Doctor Flax is only attempting to keep you safe,” Ozpin said, lips twitching. The good doctor must have had his hands full keeping Team STR at bay, and Qrow in his bed. “Qrow’s condition is still precarious, and the venom may be transferred by skin. Please promise me that when you see him, you will not touch him directly, and that you will wear the nitrile gloves kept at his bedside.”

“You’re not hearing us,” Raven said, irritated. “We can’t get in.”

“I think a visit this afternoon would be ideal,” Ozpin continued, as though he didn’t hear her. “He’s in low spirits since I was released, and he could use his friends to cheer him up. I would recommend a nice picnic. Somewhere with a great deal of fresh air.”

“I don’t understand,” Summer protested. “Will the doctor let us in? Or let Qrow out?”

“Oh, not at all,” the headmaster said serenely. “It’s a terrible risk to allow students to visit him right now. I couldn’t possibly allow you to walk through that door.”

He regarded the perplexed faces across from him pointedly.

“Oh!” Summer said, eyes lighting up. “Door!”

“What?” Taiyang asked, his expression growing desperate. “Can someone explain?”

“I merely mean that if you wish to visit Qrow this afternoon – say, in about half an hour – I would not be able to let you in…through the door.”

Summer grinned at Raven, who rolled her eyes.

“I still don’t get it,” Taiyang whined.

“Don’t worry about it,” Summer said, stumbling up out of her chair. “Come on, guys, we have somewhere to be.”

Taiyang followed, dejected until Raven whispered in his ear.

“OH!” he exclaimed, and shot a sheepish look back at the headmaster.

“Have a good afternoon,” Ozpin called after, and smiled when Summer waved from the elevator.

He waited a few minutes for the elevator to descend before rising (refilling his coffee mug, which would be viewed disapprovingly by Doctor Flax). Cane and coffee in hand, he pressed the increasingly worn button for the infirmary.

Qrow’s condition today was impossible to predict; the student alternated between relief, hostility, and joy with Ozpin’s presence. Naturally, of course, as he had every reason to regard Ozpin with conflicting emotions.

It was abundantly clear that Ozpin was not the only one harboring guilt.

A few words to Doctor Flax ensured that Ozpin and Qrow would not be disturbed for an hour and a half – “debriefing,” Ozpin said.

Close enough to the truth, if one squinted. 

The only thing left now to do was ensure that Qrow took Ozpin’s little scheme in stride like his teammates did.

Ozpin was less optimistic about that.

Qrow’s head whipped around when Ozpin entered, as though surprised – or alarmed.

He settled into the familiar stiff chair at Qrow’s bedside, offering a smile. “Good afternoon, Qrow.”

“Ozpin,” Qrow whispered, blinking as though in disbelief, his face a conflict of emotion.

_None of those emotions are happy ones._

The thought was automatic, an obvious statement of fact, and yet Ozpin felt the weight of it. His smile faltered and he busied himself with placing cane and mug on the side table.

“I hope you’re feeling better.” Another moment, and Ozpin’s smile returned, determined that he should offer some manner of positivity even if Qrow’s mood took a turn.

“They turned down the pain meds.”

“Ah.” That could explain the expression – and Ozpin was eager enough to reach for an explanation that was not the obvious one of the headmaster’s presence. He studied Qrow’s face – scruffy beyond help now, but less green, the veins almost invisible again. The blisters on his neck showed signs of scratching, the boils irregular as though opened and healed again.

_He needs a distraction,_ Ozpin thought, _and I can’t give him that myself._

“That is…good news,” the headmaster said. “I’m sorry that you’ll be uncomfortable, but it means Doctor Flax intends on releasing you on schedule.”

Qrow nodded. “Oz…” 

Ozpin waited for the rest of the thought, optimistic that the tone of his name had changed, become less bitter.

Qrow looked back at Ozpin, eyes intense, as though working something out internally. 

Perhaps it was best if Ozpin did the talking then.

“I came today in the hopes of cheering you up,” the headmaster said. “May I see your hand?”

Qrow held out his hand obediently, rotating for a full view, shooting Ozpin a questioning look.

Ozpin leaned forward and, without a word, slipped the monitor clamp from Qrow’s finger and fastened it to his own.

“Oz, you’re not wearing a glove,” Qrow protested, mildly alarmed, annoyed he had to remind Ozpin he was still poisonous.

“Your hands seem perfectly fine,” the headmaster said reasonably, reaching up to unravel the scarf from his throat, to undo the top buttons of his shirt.

Qrow froze, eyes widening as if he had just solved the riddle of Ozpin’s actions, swallowing audibly.

Then the heart monitor went off.

_Oh hell, he’ll tip off the doctor before I can even –_

“Qrow – ” Ozpin rose and leaned over the bed, snatching the suction cup from Qrow’s chest and pressing it against his own, the wailing breaking off instantly, settling back into a quiet beep with the headmaster’s pulse. 

He sighed, looking down at Qrow, the student’s expression frozen into something like shock, eyes locked onto the heart monitor now on Ozpin’s chest.

Then his expression shifted to anger, brows furrowing, lips turning downward. “Oz! What’re you doing? I’m still contagious! I’ll poison you – ” 

“You won’t,” Ozpin said, with the certainty of one lying. There had been no time to check the chest monitor for cleanliness; a moment was all he had to shift it from Qrow to himself without the doctor barging in. “I’ll be fine. Besides, this is the only way this will work.”

“Oz, give me the monitor,” Qrow said, reaching for him as he sat down again. “I _can’t lose yo –_ ”

A flash of light interrupted him, both men turning to look in unison to where the rest of Team STRQ toppled into the room.

_Right on time._

“Miss Rose, Miss Branwen, Mr. Xiao Long. How good of you to visit.”

Qrow stared, hands still reaching out toward Ozpin but his attention completely diverted. 

“Great,” he muttered. “Now I’m hallucinating too.”

“Hi, Qrow!” Summer said, waving enthusiastically. 

“Wow,” Taiyang said. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Qrow said flatly, clearly still in disbelief.

“No, I mean really. You look like a toad. That got run over by a bus.”

“More like…” Summer pulled on the gray gloves beside the bed, stooping to untangle the cords attached to the bed, noticing the monitors that now trailed to Ozpin. “…a dragon fruit past its expiration date?”

“You’re only saying that because I can’t kick your asses right now,” Qrow muttered.

“And ‘cause it’s true.”

Ozpin cleared his throat loudly, earning the attention of the room. “Team STRQ, I’m quite happy you’re all here. Mr. Branwen very much requires some fresh air without the knowledge of his doctor. Naturally, since I cannot allow you to visit here, and I cannot allow Qrow to leave, I intend to turn around and assume you’ve taken your leave and that Qrow remains in bed. You have just over an hour before I turn around again.”

Qrow shot Ozpin a dark look. “You planned this? _Oz.”_

“Hurry up!” Raven called from the open portal. “You’re making a lot of noise!”

Ozpin placed a hand on Qrow’s – despite the student’s objections, he needed this. He needed his friends. “Qrow,” he said quietly, “it’s only an hour. Please, go and enjoy the sun.”

_I can’t lose you,_ Qrow had nearly said.

Well, Ozpin wasn’t going anywhere. He squeezed Qrow’s hand and felt the pressure returned, twice as hard, Qrow holding onto the headmaster with all the strength he had.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Ozpin murmured.

“You’d better,” Qrow whispered back.

“Wait!” Taiyang said from the other side of the bed. “Who’s going to stay behind so we can portal him back?

Summer glanced around. “I will – oh. Never mind, Raven has to, you know.” She motioned between herself and Raven.

Raven gave an open-arm gesture that Ozpin interpreted as a sarcastic confirmation of what Summer was asking.

Summer’s eyes grew. “Oh. Ohhh!”

“Don’t make this a big deal.”

“Oh, right,” Summer said, rolling on her heels. “Then I’ll stay.”

“All right, Tai, in he goes.”

Taiyang gave his girlfriend a nod, shoving the bed forward.

“Oh, shit,” Qrow said, finally releasing Ozpin’s hand to grip the railings of the bed as it lurched toward the portal. He shot Ozpin one last look – concern, amusement, relief – too many things to name, but enough to convince Ozpin of what he already knew.

Qrow needed this.

The bed disappeared and Raven gave Summer and Ozpin a final stare, and then she too, was gone, the room silent once more aside from the quiet beeping of the headmaster’s pulse.

“It was kind of you to remain behind,” Ozpin said, when Summer turned back to him. “Especially considering I must be your company for the time.”

Summer giggled. “You say that like I don’t like you, Professor.”

_How kind of her to say._

“Well, it seems for the next hour, we are resigned to just this room.”

“I don’t mind,” Summer said, pulling up another chair. “Professor, can I ask…why would someone try to kill you?”

“Ah.” Ozpin gave her a small smile. “No one who opposes Salem does so without acquiring some powerful enemies. I am only sorry that Qrow was there.”

“I bet he doesn’t think that.”

_Oh?_

Perhaps she was right.

“Anyway, Professor…I think you’re a good guy. And the world could always use a good guy.”

Summer Rose, with the ability to always say the right thing, her kindness like a weapon. 

Disarming.

Ozpin broke their eye contact first, surprised at how heavily the soft words hit him. He cleared his throat, finding it closed, and reached for his mug. “Then I shall endeavor to do what I can,” he said quietly, “for as long as I can.”

Summer beamed at him. “So will I!”

They fell into an easy silence, Ozpin sipping at his coffee – now cold.

“Sir?” Summer asked after a moment.

“Yes?”

“Is that your chess set?”

“Yes, it is. I brought it to entertain Qrow, when I am able.”

“Do you…think you can teach me how to play?”

Ozpin chuckled, reaching for the box. “Miss Rose, I would be honored.”


	9. In which Qrow uses his last day in quarantine to his advantage, and Ozpin struggles with what Qrow means to him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You won't admit you love me  
> And so how am I ever to know?  
> You always tell me  
> Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps..."
> 
> \- "Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps", Doris Day

Ozpin arrived back at the hospital just before seven o'clock, steaming mug in hand, nodding at the nursing staff on duty. The staff welcomed him in an almost comical unison, practiced in wishing him good morning during his own stay.

The early hour was necessary, he told himself, after the less than encouraging report from Team STRQ. Mr. Xiao Long – and Miss Branwen, when grudgingly prompted – told the headmaster that Qrow’s bout of low spirits was exactly what Ozpin feared: he blamed himself entirely for Ozpin’s injuries; furthermore, spiraling into an extreme desire for isolation.

No amount of logic would convince Qrow that Ozpin was hurt because a man chose to hurt him; Qrow reiterated that it should have never come to it at all, that he had somehow failed in his job to protect him.

Illogical, perhaps, but fear and guilt rarely operated under sense.

Ozpin had no time to reassure Qrow in person; he had only just ushered Team STRQ out when Dr. Flax arrived to close visiting hours, and so Ozpin send a series of texts to Qrow that evening, reminding him that Ozpin depended on Qrow, needed him, and wanted him by the headmaster’s side indefinitely.

Indeed, Qrow had become so woven into Ozpin’s plans, schemes, and life, that solitude was, sadly, no longer an option for the young man.

It took an hour or two – Ozpin sitting in reading chair in his apartment with a cup of tea, his scroll on his knee – but Qrow slowly seemed to cheer up, Ozpin promising to stop by as often as he could, as long as he could, until Dr. Flax or Ferra dragged him away.

And so it was absolutely essential that Ozpin be here, even if his doctor disapproved.

Dr. Flax - who Ozpin suspected slept even less than the headmaster - fell into step with him, analyzing eyes searching Ozpin's face.

"Have I turned green again, Doctor?" 

"No more than usual," Flax said, still examining the headmaster's face. "Just a precaution."

"If you would like to check my vitals, may we wait until I'm in the hospital room?" Ozpin asked. 

"Of course, sir."

Dr. Flax followed him into Qrow's room - their old room - waiting patiently but somehow still impatiently as the headmaster took the chair near the bed. Qrow slept peacefully now, his face turned toward them, Ozpin almost smiling at how innocent he looked.

In sleep, at least.

"Your coat, please, sir."

Ozpin sighed, placing cane and coffee on the side table, slipping his coat from his shoulders. He watched Qrow's even breathing as the doctor took his wrist, checking his pulse. Qrow was still slightly green, as Ferra had reported last evening, but barely so, the blisters fewer, smaller.

"How much longer?" he asked, as Dr. Flax undid the headmaster's cuff, rolling up the sleeve to wrap the blood pressure cuff on his forearm. 

"A few more days, at least," the doctor said, his eyes turning to the pressure reading. "He cannot be allowed to leave while he's still..."

"Oozing?" Ozpin offered.

"Exactly. I’m afraid that an hour or so ago I had to increase his pain medications, so your visit may not be a very coherent one.”

“Should I be concerned?” A rhetorical question; Ozpin was already concerned, shooting Qrow’s calm face another glance.

“No, he had another boil sprout up on his back. It burst last night, and he’s been adequately treated. I merely couldn’t allow him to be in that much discomfort. Otherwise, his skin is clearing up quite well.”

Flax removed the cuff, allowing the headmaster his arm back.

"Do I pass?"

"For now." The warning was evident in his voice. "Are you sleeping, sir?"

"With...assistance," Ozpin admitted. 

"Still having nightmares?"

Ozpin looked back at Qrow, wishing to avoid the question. "I'll become accustomed to them," he said quietly. "I always do, with time."

"I can prescribe a different sleep aid..."

Ozpin's lips tugged in a smile, resigned. "Whatever you think is best, Doctor," he said.

Flax nodded, understanding the dismissal. He left quietly, leaving headmaster and student alone, the silence only broken by the soft beeping of Qrow's monitors.

Ozpin watched as the student's brows furrowed in his medically induced sleep, breathing and monitor beeping increasing slightly.

"Oz..." The soft whisper was barely loud enough to hear.

The headmaster leaned forward, taking Qrow's hand in his, offering a gentle squeeze. The doctor said Qrow was clear aside from the one spot on his back, and so he had no qualms regarding other skin contact. In fact, he found a remarkable amount of relief in holding Qrow’s hand.

"I'm here, Qrow," he said softly.

The student bolted upright, heart monitor blaring, his body tense for fighting, nearly breaking Ozpin's fingers. Crimson eyes aflame, searching the room for danger, face screwed up in the blurred line between reality and dreams. 

Ozpin knew that gray area between only too well.

“Qrow.”

The heart monitor quieted at length, Qrow giving Ozpin a blank stare. Breathing slowing, Qrow retracted his hands from Ozpin's, obviously ashamed.

"Sorry, I...you should wear gloves before you touch me," he said.

“Dr. Flax gave me permission. I’m allowed to touch you anywhere but the bandage on your back.”

Qrow shot him a sharp look, the monitor beeping a brief warning.

 _Still overly concerned for me, I see,_ Ozpin mused.

Gradually, Qrow relaxed back on his pillow. "I'm glad you're here. But I’d feel better if you didn’t touch me.”

"I already know what to expect from the unlikely chance I should be exposed again," Ozpin said, dismissing the warning with a wave, reaching for his coffee. He took a sip, watching Qrow's heart monitor for another moment.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come last night," he said. "Ferra was insistent, and I...couldn't find the energy to object."

“You know, if you’re going to keep sending Ferra with homework instead of coming yourself, I’m gonna start takin’ it personally,” Qrow said.

“You know I would visit more often if I could,” Ozpin said. “I’m afraid you’ve charmed me so that I miss your constant distractions terribly.”

Qrow looked up abruptly, as though Ozpin had said something offensive, but then the familiar smirk returned.

"Don't worry about it. Ferra was there when I exploded. Both times. Grossed her out, but she got the doc to turn up my meds again," Qrow said, leaning forward to show the large bandage on his back, "and I think I had a pretty good time after that.”

"Yes, she tells me about your medicated adventures," Ozpin said into his coffee. "She gave me your last intoxicated message - to bring condoms to relive your prank from your...second year, I believe? Needless to say, she likely has some questions for the both of us now."

"Oh shit. Did I really ask for condoms?" Qrow giggled, a higher pitch than usual. "I think I'd rather put them to other uses. Those condiments would smell too bad locked up in here."

"A wise decision," the headmaster said solemnly. "I think Dr. Flax would have some...legitimate complaints should I allow such a scene. And in any case, I'm your only visitor at the moment, so I would have to send you _quite_ dry-cleaning bill should I become your unfortunate victim."

"What's the matter, Oz? Don't want me getting you all wet and sticky?" 

The blush came without warning, faintly warm, as Qrow laughed to himself.

The headmaster cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "I think you underestimate the value of my wardrobe, Qrow," he said. "If you absolutely insist on playing a prank on me, I would prefer you to leave out my clothing."

"So you're ordering me to wait until you're not wearing any?" Slurred words ran together, Qrow grinning shamelessly.

Ozpin coughed lightly, the warmth returning.

"You know perfectly well that's not what I meant," Ozpin said, his tone turning petulant, as it always did when he couldn’t deflect Qrow’s teasing. "My goodness, you really do sound a bit drunk on that medication. No wonder Ferra said we were so entertaining."

"I'm always entertaining," Qrow said, attempting a bow, but tilting a bit too far, nearly landing in Ozpin's lap – 

"Qrow – "

Ozpin caught him with one arm, quickly sliding his mug on the table to hold up Qrow with the other.

"Easy," he said softly. "If you fall out of bed, we may have to tie you down until you recover."

"Kinky, but something tells me that wouldn't go the direction I'd want it to," Qrow drawled, using Ozpin to hoist himself back upright.

"I sincerely hope you didn't say such things to Ferra," the headmaster rebuked, his blush deepening. He was accustomed to Qrow's humor having a crude flavor, but medicated, the young man seemed unrestrained.

_”He’s too fond of you, you know.”_

_I know, Ferra, but it’s not in the manner you think._

Qrow had too many options, too much charm, to be swayed by someone like Ozpin. That much seemed clear.

There were better things to want than a cursed man.

At least that was what Ozpin told himself when Qrow made less-than-innocent comments, smirking when Ozpin blushed.

He had to tell himself so. He didn’t know exactly why it was so important because he wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on it, and so he took it at face value.

Qrow could do better.

The student made a noise of disgust. "No way. Ferra's not my type. Too strict." Qrow's eyes glazed over, effort given to thought, to recollection. "But we came to an understanding. I think. I can't remember. I think we're allies.”

Ozpin chuckled. "She'll be thrilled to hear she's not your type," he said, his eyes drifting toward the window as he considered Qrow's other statements. Allies? What a strange thing to say. Had it been anyone but Ferra, Ozpin would have used the phrase _partners in crime,_ but Qrow was correct - Ferra was too strict to grant Qrow allowances on breaking school rules.

"It is good to have allies," the headmaster said. "Friends for a joint goal, are you? How odd that Ferra neglected to mention it to me."

"That's ‘cause it has to do with you."

Ozpin blinked. "With me? You didn't tell her my birthday, did you?"

Qrow shook his head vigorously enough to cause him to tumble into Ozpin again. "Nope," came the muffled giggle. "That's _my_ secret."

"How perfectly mysterious," the headmaster said, helping Qrow up again. "You won't even allow me a hint?"

"Heh. Nope. If I tell you, it will violate the ally... alliance.”

"I see," Ozpin said. "If it's to do with my working less hours, or getting to bed on time, then rest assured I will not require your unified front to convince me."

Qrow shook his head and giggled again, "You'll never know. Well...not yet. Maybe in a few years."

"Years?" Ozpin repeated. "I am all curiosity. It's almost cruel to tell me this if I won't know about it for years to come. Perhaps I can give Ferra a bottle of wine as a thank you gift and see if that doesn't loosen a hint or two in my favor..."

"Nope, but let me know how bad it goes.”

"You really mean to keep me in the dark after teasing me so cruelly?”

"I promise to tell you in the next few months. That is as good as you're gonna get, Oz.”

"Oh, very well, very well. I suppose that's all I can ask. What a very strange morning, to find my assistant making secret pacts with her least favorite student. I should see if my school is still standing, or if the remainder of the moon has fallen from the sky."

"'Ey! Ferra likes me. She thinks I'm good for you...someone has ta take care of you when you when she isn't here," Qrow grumbled.

"Well," Ozpin said with a shrug, "I suppose you're right. She did mention being thankful that she has to lecture me less often since you've taken to pestering - _reminding_ me not to skip meals. It's almost like having two babysitters these days."

"Kinda feels the other way at the moment. Just be ready for me when I finally get out."

"I can more than handle you," Ozpin said, chuckling, not entirely convinced of it, given that it was not even eight o'clock and he already felt the fatigue of his weary immune system. 

"I'ma have fun testing that," Qrow said, grinning.

"I'm exhausted just thinking about it," Ozpin said.

"Sounds like you can't handle me as think as you well you can."

The headmaster laughed, reaching for his mug. "I'll be healthy soon enough to keep up," he said. "In the meantime, I have my coffee to help me. Fortunately, with you under the influence, I find myself not unfairly handicapped. You'll be free soon. I suppose that's cause for celebration. And don't think I have forgotten I owe you my life - name your reward."

"You." The word seemed a sentence its own, as though Qrow said it and forgot the rest.

Nevertheless, Ozpin felt the sudden heat that came with the implication.

Then Qrow shook his head, motioning to indicate he had lost his train of thought.

_Of course that’s what it was._

Ozpin reached for his coffee, conflicted by relief and disappointment and all the things he had been trying very hard not to let back in.

"You owe me, but it's unfair to ask me what I want when I'm drunk. Drugged," Qrow said, waving his hand in the air. 

He puckered his lips in practiced pout, but his eyes remained heavy causing the expression to look as though he were about to drunkenly kiss someone.

The student's pout brought back sudden drug-fogged memories of the headmaster's dream of Qrow's lips on his and he felt the faint blush, thankful that Qrow was too out of his wits to notice. 

_It was one dream. It hardly meant anything._

_And who are you trying to convince, Ozpin?_

Ozpin grit his teeth. 

_Hardly the time, Ozma._

_It’s the perfect time, isn’t it? When you’re running away from the obvious? Love isn’t a curse, Ozpin._

Ozpin nearly snorted aloud.

_You of all people should know better._

Ozpin realized Qrow was speaking and struggled to catch up. 

"You get it,” Qrow was saying. “I'm the one handy right now. Shame on you for tryin' to take advantage of me."

"I scarcely think I'm taking advantage in offering you a reward," Ozpin said with a chuckle. "But very well, I'll ask again when you can think straight."

Qrow burst into a giggling fit. "I ...I haven't done that in almost a year."

"Oh dear," Ozpin said, the student's amusement contagious. "That sounds ominous somehow. But I think I would have noticed if you had been sneaking narcotics from the hospital wing, in one way or another."

The young man paused in his fit of laughter only long enough to give the headmaster a confused stare. "I meant..." The student shook his head opting for another laugh, this time at the headmaster's expense. "Oz, you're cute."

_Cute._

_Ozpin, he called you –_

"Cute?" the headmaster repeated without thinking, certain he was quite pink at this point. No reason for it, Ozpin thought to himself, a quiet rebuke; Qrow was drugged to the point where he didn't know what he was saying. Ferra had warned him he would be in such a state, having enjoyed watching Ozpin in the same condition. 

"Ah. Thank you. I think," Ozpin managed to say.

"You prefer sexy or handsome?"

_So damn blunt._

Another blush, this one almost violent with the unexpected directness of the question. 

Silence from Ozma, but the smug self-righteousness seeped over Ozpin’s thoughts.

"Really, Qrow," Ozpin said, using his mug as an excuse to conceal his reaction. "That wasn't what I meant."

"It's what I meant," Qrow said flatly.

The flutter in the headmaster's stomach grew; he shifted in his chair, his face uncomfortably warm. Qrow's tone had dropped the joking tone, but he couldn't possibly be in his right mind, unless he meant to tease Ozpin on purpose. 

_You know what this is._

_Ozma, hush. It…can’t be._

"I think I would prefer my name, thank you. I already give you too many allowances as it is when it comes to addressing me appropriately."

"I'll undress... address... whatever," Qrow grumbled, shaking his head. 

_Ozpin._

_So perhaps he does have romantic feelings for me,_ Ozpin retorted sharply, the idea just too uncomfortable, too – 

_It’s not a good thing, Ozma. And it doesn’t mean I feel the same._

A cacophony of voices broke out at once, and Ozpin shut them all out, shaking his head.

"I can't chase you off or I might go crazy in here without you," Qrow said. 

“You never will,” Ozpin said, flinching at the truth that spilled out of him so easily. “I apologize. I seem to have a lot on my mind. We both do.”

Qrow motioned at the chess set on the side table. "Wanna play?" He made grabbing hands at it and Ozpin laughed without thinking. The student was so unsteady in his movements and uncertain in his wording that the professor didn't think Qrow would be able to hold a game against him - if he even recalled how to play.

"If you think you can hold yourself against me," the headmaster remarked, pulling out the board and setting up the pieces. "I accept your challenge."

"White. Like your hair," Qrow said moving a pawn three spaces forward in a confident first move.

 _"Ahem,"_ Ozpin said politely, moving Qrow's pawn back one space. "Do try to recall how the pieces move."

He moved his own pawn up a space, watching Qrow's reactions with amusement. 

Qrow's eyes grew as he watched Ozpin move his piece back. The young man squinted, then leaned in close to the table, nearly knocking over a piece in the process. "One. Two," he counted. 

Next, the student moved his bishop recklessly across the board taking the pawn directly diagonal, unfortunately leaving the piece completely exposed. "HA! Sideways. Diagon. Something."

"Oh my," the headmaster chuckled, taking the offered bishop. "This is quite the strategy. Or lack thereof."

"Hey!" the student exclaimed glaring at Ozpin's piece. Qrow grabbed hold of his queen from behind his row of pawns and moved her to take Ozpin's queen placing him in an illegal check. "Check!"

The headmaster could not help but laugh aloud, gently taking the student's hands in his, easing the black queen from Qrow's fingers. 

"Perhaps chess is for another time," Ozpin said. 

"Wha – " he protested. "Am I no good right now?"

"My dear, your pieces seem to abide by the laws of their own personal time-space," Ozpin said, recovering the black queen with some difficulty. "Which could be interesting, but somehow I think would place me in something of a disadvantage."

"I'm always at a disadvantage with you," Qrow growled, but he relinquished the piece, allowing the headmaster to put it away. 

“I seem to recall you beating me at least a third of the time these days,” Ozpin said, and when he turned around, Qrow had vanished from the bed.

In the blink of an eye, the young man's body disappeared, giving way to a crow; half a second later the monitors blared with life as all life signs went flat, the intoxicated bird squawking angrily at the noise.

Ozpin moved without thinking, seizing the heart indicators, clamping one on his index finger and struggling with his shirt collar and enough buttons to place the other on his chest.

The monitors beeped angrily once more before settling to count the headmaster's own pulse, slightly elevated as Ozpin waited to see if the doctors and nurses would burst in and discover the secret Ozpin had spent years keeping hidden. 

A minute, and then another, and the monitor beeped a quiet, content beep when the headmaster sighed and sat back down.

"Qrow," he said, suddenly so very tired, "I need you to change back, if you please."

The bird hopped over to the headmaster's lap, wiggling its tail feathers to settle as it looked up at Ozpin with a pitiful glance, a plea: _please don't make me move._

The headmaster sighed, his will weakening instantly.

"Five minutes," he warned. "That's all I can safely give you." Ozpin gave the crow a reassuring pet on the head, wondering when he had come to regard Qrow's pushing of boundaries so charming.

The bird finished settling in Ozpin's lap, resting contently under the safety promised by the headmaster's reassuring strokes. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.

Ozpin sighed, not entirely pleased by the crow's impromptu nap in his lap, but unwilling to wake him just yet. He continued his soft pets, charmed despite all things and the situation in which he found himself. He would be late to work if he allowed Qrow to nap, and yet was that really such a bad thing, given Ozpin's restrictions? 

The headmaster glanced at his own pulse on the heart monitor and settled deeper into his chair. Twenty minutes, he told himself. Enough time to finish his coffee at leisure.

When Ozpin finally did wake the bird, it was from a deep sleep, the fog of which clung to him even after his eyes opened. 

“Qrow,” he murmured. “I need you to change back.”

The order was simple - change back, and so the young man did.

While still in Ozpin's lap.

"Oh - _Qrow!"_

The shift of weight was startling and without warning, the headmaster making a noise of discomfort. Qrow himself still appeared dazed, unsteady, and so Ozpin caught him with both arms to keep him from slipping to the floor. 

"Sorry," Qrow slurred, wincing as he readjusted to reach for his bed. 

“Let me help you,” Ozpin said – or began to say, for Qrow hoisted himself back over the bed guardrails, nearly collapsing face first, instead shifting last minute to land on his side with a grunt, his split gown offering the headmaster a full view of the young man's backside.

Ozpin found his gaze lingering half a moment too long before the heart monitor pinged angrily on behalf of his blood pressure; he looked away with a clearing of his throat and a flush of his face, trying very hard not to think that Qrow had a very shapely behind. 

_Ozpin._

_Oh, will you shut up, Ozma?_

Slow eyes found their way back to Ozpin, then the man's open shirt. Before he knew it, a smile graced his lips.

"Thanks for covering for me," he slurred.

"Yes, yes," the headmaster said, taking Qrow's arm to flip him onto his back. "You'll suffocate like that," he said. He pulled the blankets back over the student, tucking them gently at his sides. 

"And I believe these are yours," Ozpin added, clamping the heart monitor back onto Qrow's finger. The chest pad went next, Ozpin pulling at the stiff collar of the hospital gown to fix it back in place, holding it down while he watched the pulse readings settle back into rhythm.

***

An elevated rhythm given the young man's hazy state.

After all, there were several cubic inches of perfect, milk-white skin visible where Ozpin had undone his shirt for the heart monitor, and Qrow was willing to drink that in for as long as he could.

"Thanks," Qrow mumbled, the student watching Ozpin's every move, the way his shirt moved with him, almost sighing aloud at the tease of more skin. "You aren't green anymore...except where you want to be."

"Hmm?" Ozpin glanced down, shaking his head with a chuckle, eyes drifting back to the blood pressure readings. "Except where I want to be," he repeated, amused. "Quite right. In your defense, you appear to be less green, ah...elsewhere than your face."

Qrow examined his own arms in search for his green-to-normal ratio. "Huh," he said at last. "Not Ozpin green. Am I still pretty?"

Ozpin laughed again. "Pretty as a peacock," the professor said, tending to his own state of dress, removing his scarf in order to button the collar of his shirt. 

"Peacocks are assholes. But they are fun to play with. They can't turn fast when you pull their tails..." Qrow trailed off, watching the headmaster as he undressed, wishing deeply that the man's hands would move down to unbutton more instead of cover more up. Suddenly feeling parched, the young man took a long drink from his bedside bottle.

"You've been called something of an ass yourself," Ozpin reminded the student with a chuckle. He caught Qrow's stare, glancing down at where his hands had been busy buttoning his shirt. "Is something wrong?”

_Yeah, you’re putting away what you should be pulling out._

“Doc or no doc, it was dangerous to let me touch you that much,” Qrow drawled.

The headmaster paused in buttoning his shirt to inspect his skin, but after a moment shrugged. "I think I'll survive," Ozpin said, giving the student a concerned look. "Will you?"

"Let me check under your chin," Qrow blurted, before the man could button more.

Ozpin sighed, nevertheless leaning forward.

"Very well," he said. "One would think I would be accustomed to such prodding, and yet I can't say I have." 

Qrow reached forward to pull Ozpin's collar back, the student's fingertips brushing against the headmaster's neck where they lingered. 

_Wonder what it would feel like to have my hand around his throat while we –_

The monitor beeped and Qrow shot it a tipsy glare.

Ferra told him to take things slow. Woo him or whatever. And Qrow knew he couldn’t do it in this sorry state.

"Must have been a shadow..." he said reluctantly, dropping his hand.

"Then I pass your professional medical inspection, do I?”

"Can I inspect more?"

"I...well." Ozpin hesitated. “Do you think it’s necessary?”

“Dunno, Oz. But if this boil popped outta nowhere, I’d like to check. Just in case.”

_Fuck taking it slow. I wanna see some skin._

"I suppose it would be best to ensure..." He let the sentence trail, clearing his throat at the sudden self-consciousness of undoing his buttons again. 

"I'll check your back," Qrow offered.

"My back...?" the headmaster repeated, blinking in surprise. "Is that entirely necessary?"

“I mean, if you wanna tell Flax why you suddenly relapsed…”

Without further protest - beyond a heavy sigh of resignation - Ozpin slowly removed his coat, turning about. 

“Well?”

“Come on, Oz.”

“Even if you did… _ooze_ on me, it’s highly unlikely that it would seep through – “

“Oz, it’s a _lethal poison,_ Qrow said, his voice taking on desperation. 

Ozpin regarded him for a moment, protests dying.

 _He feels sorry for me,_ Qrow realized. _He thinks I’m desperate for the wrong reason._

Qrow knew he shouldn't eye his headmaster like a slab of meat he couldn't wait to consume, but then again the lovely drugs coursing through his system quieted the complaint efficiently; and so the young man watched his every move - each gentle unbutton, each soft pull at the fabric, each section of skin revealed from beneath emerald confines.

Qrow was only thankful that the drugs inhibited too much reaction from him.

Mostly.

The heart monitor blipped with life as Ozpin reached his last buttons. The younger man cleared his throat, turning his head slightly away, but not his eyes.

Delicious meat it was.

Ozpin coughed lightly, placing his shirt neatly on the back of his chair, his face warm with his state of undress. He gave Qrow a brief glance, the student staring with the intensity of a drugged mind. 

"Well?" he asked, turning to display his bare back. "Do I meet the requirements of good health, _Doctor?"_

The student followed every contour of his headmaster's body with his eyes, a hand reaching out again to trace shadows.

Too long. Qrow wanted this to last too long; if even there were such a thing regarding Ozpin - which Qrow believed there was not when it came to the older man. Qrow could touch him for eternity and it still wouldn't be long enough.

The heart monitor blipped a livelier beat the longer he lingered, shocking the younger man from his trance. Reluctantly he withdrew his hand, speaking to break the silence, speaking for a distraction, speaking to quiet the damn monitor. "A few fading scars, but you look great..."

 _Great_ was an understatement. Ozpin was perfect, even with the scars, white skin and shapely shoulder blades and _fuck_ his chest, sloping down to his belt where Qrow could just _imagine_ his waist tapering off to –

***

"Thank you," the headmaster said quietly, reaching for his shirt again. He slipped it back over his shoulders, the fabric as light as the touch he almost swore he felt along his back, as though only Qrow's shadows had reached out to him.

He shook his head as he buttoned his shirt, trying to shake his mind free of such overly sentimental thoughts. Perhaps it was his recovery that made him suddenly dwell on romance when he rarely ever did before, his dreams almost like drugged memories, green-tinted foggy scenes of Qrow sleeping against him, Ozpin's fingers in his hair, foggy dreams of Qrow leaning in to – 

It was only natural, Ozpin reminded himself yet again. The two men survived together, recovered together; it was only natural that the headmaster develop such strong protective feelings for the student. 

_Protective,_ came the voice from within, lightly chiding.

Ozpin tucked in his green shirt and slipped his vest on, resuming his seat beside Qrow's bed. A glance at his watch told him it was nearly nine o'clock, and yet he was reluctant to leave still, unwilling to leave Qrow alone and in pain. 

"I'll see you after work?" Qrow asked.

“How did you – “

“Come on, Oz. Even drugged, I know what it means when you look at your watch. Besides, you don’t want to go, so I guess I forgive you.”

Ozpin smiled. “And how do you know that?”

“You don’t really frown, unless you’re _really_ mad about something, but when you’re kinda sad, your lips turn down just a little. It’s easy to see, if you recognize it.”

_Oh._

"Of course," the headmaster said, thinking that no one had ever once told him he was easy to read – which was precisely how he preferred it. "I'm restricted to working only until three o'clock for the foreseeable future. Perhaps we can revisit that game of chess? If your mind will oblige us both by recalling the proper movements of the pieces."

He rose with a sigh, slipping his coat over his shoulders and reaching for his scarf. "Ferra should be proud of me for not attempting to overwork myself for once. Somehow I doubt she'll see it in the same light." He took an extra minute to adjust Qrow's blankets and check the student's vitals. 

"Feel free to text me if you become bored," Ozpin said.

Qrow perked up with a sideways smile. "I will. Just be ready for your king to fall."

 _He already has,_ Ozma said quietly, and this time, Ozpin could not find the words to protest.

***

For the next few days, at three o'clock precisely, Professor Ozpin turned off the floating monitors above his desk, his deputy headmistress looking up from her scroll in surprise.

"Time," the headmaster said simply, rising and picking up his cane. 

Ferra glanced at her watch and gave a shrug. "I'm surprised you aren't making excuses to keeping working," she said.

"I have visiting hours to keep," Ozpin replied, offering her a hand. "I mustn't be rude."

Ferra snorted, accepting the assistance nonetheless. "Maybe we should keep Branwen in the hospital another week to force decent hours on you, sir."

"I think that would be unwise. Qrow has already tested the restrictions and patience of his nurses to an extreme degree. If we desire our hospital wing to remain intact, I suggest we allow him to be discharged tomorrow as planned."

"So that the rest of the school may not remain intact," Ferra grumbled. 

"And here I thought you and Qrow had some manner of secret alliance regarding something about me," Ozpin said. "Tell me honestly, Ferra...is it a fan club?"

Ferra snorted loudly as the elevator rose to the top floor. "Branwen and I came to an understanding on keeping you alive - against your will at times. It's gone quite well recently, but I hope Branwen keeps to his side of things once he's released."

"I'll behave," Ozpin said. 

"When it suits you, sir."

“Ferra.”

She sighed, dramatic. _”Ozpin.”_

“Thank you.” He wished her a good afternoon as he alighted on the hospital wing floor, whistling as he made his way to Qrow's room, waving polite but dismissive waves toward staff who made eye contact. 

Qrow was asleep; Ozpin wondered whether the nurses had drugged him again just to calm the young man's severe restlessness. The headmaster's scroll had been buzzing angrily in his pocket for hours, filling with the ramblings of a very bored bird locked in a room rather than a cage - not that Qrow appreciated the difference. 

Ozma – and all the others, who felt bold enough to chime in with opinions if they matched the king’s – was quiet now, and with Qrow asleep, Ozpin felt the weight that came from his own thoughts, somehow more intrusive than all the rest.

There was, of course, the obvious option of speaking to someone about…whatever this was, but Ozpin mused for a moment or two before acknowledging that Qrow had become his confidante, and this was not something Ozpin could possibly bring up to him now. Ferra, perhaps, was his second choice, but their current relationship was too muddled in half-truths and something between maternal and professional. She had only just begin using his name again; he couldn’t chase her away with things he ought to have learned as a juvenile – whether in this life or all the rest.

And perhaps Ozma was right. It was an annoying habit of his, the king, the hero, a man whose morality remained irritatingly intact for a thousand years, all encouragement when the current host faltered, questioned everything.

Ozma, who believed in love even after it had destroyed the world.

And of course, Ozpin was part of him, that morality and that belief ingrained in him. Not to mention that this host certainly had his say in Ozpin’s current predicament, crush-struck more often than a man had any right to be (Ozpin’s latest stint of puberty a series of them, thankfully shaken off quickly, with the flighty wants of a teenager), Ozpin’s past lives suppressing them all with the efficiency of jaded men.

Nevertheless, Ozpin’s little crushes returned at awful moments, moments where he might act on them – the pirate at the Historical Masquerade; the coffeeshop owner who Ozpin knew harbored a bit of one on him as well, the headmaster torturing himself by returning every week for awkward, stilted conversation, if only to remember how wonderful the _idea_ of romance could be, when he knew nothing would ever come of it.

_Another life, and I’m still as human as ever._

_The lesson you always must relearn,_ Ozma said softly, _is that being human is something to revere._

“In other people, perhaps,” Ozpin whispered into the room, watching Qrow stir gently, as though in a dream, more than willing to use this small distraction to silence his mind.

The student began with small stirs, twitches of limber fingers, lean chest tightening, muscles flexing, breaths coming shorter as if he were in the middle of something exerting. Brows furrowed next, hands now grasping for something unseen, breaths almost quick pants.

"Oz..." A groan slipped past the student's lips, the heart monitor beeping faster.

The headmaster straightened in his chair at his name, his eyes darting from Qrow's face to his pulse reading. 

Another day, another nightmare. 

Ozpin took one of Qrow's hands in his, the other gently brushing dark hair from the young man's closed eyes. The professor knew better than to wake him abruptly - one nurse sported a black eye after trying to rouse Qrow from a fit - and so Ozpin ran his fingers through Qrow's hair, hoping to ease the tension of his dream. 

"Qrow," he said softly. 

The young man leaned into the headmaster’s touch as though the caress was life itself, hand linking together, Qrow unwilling to let go.

“Oz,” Qrow groaned. _”Harder.”_

_Oh._

The monitors blared as Qrow’s hips jerked up, the distortion of the blanket now glaringly apparent.

_OH._

Ozpin froze at the realization of exactly what _manner_ of dream with which Qrow was currently fighting, his face instantly aflame, quickly looking away from the blatant evidence beneath the sheets.

"Qrow – " 

The headmaster pulled at his hand, but the student's fingers were locked around his, Ozpin left merely to tug feebly at his own limb, still in disbelief that this was happening. 

"Qrow, _please_ ," he said, increasing the volume of his voice in the hopes of waking the student and freeing himself.

"Yes..." Qrow growled, animalistic, before his grip tightened around the headmaster, body tightening, back arching into climax.

The monitors slowed, limbs loosening, body collapsing against the bed again - the only evidence of the encounter a soiled spot on the linens, the headmaster’s hand relinquished. 

Ozpin stood over the bed for a long moment, eyes wide on Qrow's now relaxed form, blinking while his brain tried to process the incident while combating its own hot-blooded embarrassment. Slowly he sank back down into his own chair, putting a hand to his face to feel the sheer heat coming off from his skin.

He heard the soft creak of the door behind him and whirled around to find Dr. Flax's head pop in, as though reluctant to come in. The headmaster rose and went to him, pausing just outside the hospital room. 

"Never mind about the monitor alarms," Ozpin said, still wholly flushed, unable to look the doctor in the eye. "It's...been taken care of."

The doctor sighed. "Another dream?"

"Ah...yes."

"Oh," the doctor said, with meaning. "Another one of _those_ dreams."

The headmaster looked up in surprise. "This...sort of thing has happened before?"

Dr. Flax cleared his throat. "Well. He...may have had one or two in the last few days."

Ozpin, a question burning in his mind, tried very hard to stop blushing. "Did he...happen to mention..."

The doctor raised an expectant eyebrow. 

"...a name?"

Dr. Flax looked away in a manner that confirmed Ozpin's suspicions; the headmaster’s face burned yet again.

"Oh," he said, for a lack of anything else to say.

"It's nothing to read into," the doctor said quickly. "He's bored. He's young. He's been confined with you for long enough that perhaps...you're simply the first person to come to mind."

"Naturally," Ozpin murmured, thinking that this was not natural at all. 

"Try not to dwell on it, sir. And perhaps...not mentioning this to Mr. Branwen..."

"Oh, agreed," the headmaster said. "Very much agreed."

Dr. Flax nodded and gave a half smile, as though to wish the professor good luck.

"I'll have some fresh sheets brought in," the doctor said, by way of a farewell.

"Thank you," Ozpin said, retreating back into the hospital room, unsure of how he would be able to converse casually with Qrow after such a display. 

_And yet._

No, he told himself. This wasn't flattering; this was an inconvenient response to trauma. Ozpin sat back down beside his sleeping student, ignoring the flurry of confusing thoughts that began to accumulate within him. 

Ozpin was so deep in thought, he did not notice the red eyes fluttering open, now focusing on him as the student yawned. 

"Oz...I was just dreaming about you," Qrow said.

The blush came back with such violence that Ozpin felt the heat radiate off his face. He struggled for words, for anything to say in return that would not reveal that the headmaster knew _precisely_ what Ozpin had been doing in Qrow's dreams.

Well. Perhaps not _precisely,_ but there was a general idea, given Qrow's command for _Oz, harder –_

"Is that so," the headmaster said, flattening his tone to avoid embarrassing himself further.

"Are you okay?" the young man asked sitting himself upright in bed to examine Ozpin more closely. The hand that had clasped his so tightly only minutes before reached out to feel the professor's head. "You're hot," he said, his voice concerned.

"I..." The headmaster coughed, unable to stop picturing whatever it was Qrow might have been picturing, the young man's hand on him not helping in the least. "Yes, I'm quite fine. Just...a little tired."

"Do you want to join me for a nap in our old bed?" he asked in opened arm invitation. "It's probably more comfortable than the chair."

The student's tone was joking, of course, although Ozpin would almost feel Qrow holding back a suggestive wink. No, the headmaster was almost certainly overthinking it, too flustered by the incident to properly heed Dr. Flax's wise advice, too preoccupied with wondering _exactly_ how Qrow's dream may have portrayed him, too concerned with the fact that he wasn't sure he entirely hated the idea of Qrow having dreams about him in the first place.

 _You're just flattered, old man,_ he told himself. _And Qrow is only bored._

"I believe I will have to pass," Ozpin said at last, forcing a smile to look casual. "You may be getting released tomorrow, but best not to tempt fate if I should be exposed - "

He broke off the sentence with another blush, the visual poking through his subconscious. 

"I don't think it would be wise," he finished instead.

"Don't wanna be exposed to me and my juices," Qrow teased with a wink. An obvious wink. 

_He isn’t flirting; he’s bored._

_Ozpin, you cannot be this deeply in den -_

Ozpin coughed, loudly enough to drown out the voice.

Qrow sighed fighting another yawn as he stretched his arms behind his head, his demeanor dropping the teasing tone. "Don't say I didn't offer. But I am glad you came..." he trailed succumbing to the yawn, "to visit. I can't wait to get out of this hell hole. First thing - I'm ditching this damn gown.”

"Ah. Yes. The gown." The headmaster used each word as a means to focus, trying not to dwell on the hidden meanings peppered into Qrow's speech - or those Ozpin himself may simply be imagining. "I can't say that I miss the gown. Or how much it crunches when you move. Or how stiff the sheets – “

Another poor choice of words. Ozpin coughed again, struggling to keep the conversation going.  
"I'll be quite happy when you're released tomorrow," he said.

"Me too..." Qrow said, turning his gaze to the room. "I feel like I'm going crazy locked up in here. Don't know how much longer I could last if I had to stay. And yeah, fuck the stiff sheets."

Qrow's gaze wandered down, cocking his head at the stain Ozpin prayed he wouldn’t mention.

"Looks like I had a good dream," Qrow grinned. "About fucking time."

There was, Ozpin realized, no humanly possible way to prevent oneself from blushing; he would have willingly given his life to learn how, if he was not quite so certain Qrow would kill him by words alone.

"Anything is better than more nightmares," the headmaster said. A safe statement, if only a little boring, and yet he preferred boring over utter embarrassment.

"Yeah. Even those got boring after a while. So what’s happening in the outside world? School still standing now that I'm not there?"

"Ah," the headmaster said, finally able to laugh genuinely. "Much to Ferra's delight, yes. She's already begun to fret about it come your release tomorrow. She has the utmost confidence in your destructive talents, you see. She has her student intern doing the clean-up these days. Telekinesis is quite useful in that regard. And your ally she is, for she refuses to tell me what manner of conspiracy group you've formed. I've decided it must be something of a fan club, and that she is too shy to admit it to me."

"Damn, we've been caught. I guess that means we can make our fan club official now," Qrow said, words laced with sarcasm.

“Oh, no, my modesty would prevent that," Ozpin said, with a jokingly dismissive wave of his hand. "Mustn't let it go to my head, you know."

"What's the matter, Oz? Don't want your number one fan roaming around your head?" Qrow said.

"I don't think you require an official fan club to give you an excuse to bother me whenever it suits you."

"Heh. Nope. Then again because I do so, no one can read you like I do."

“A lofty claim," Ozpin remarked lightly. "I have never thought of being an open book. In fact, I have never wished to be one. How privileged you must be in that regard."

"If I'm privileged, it's only because you allow me to be; you trust me to be," Qrow admitted.

"You give me too much credit," the headmaster said, his voice growing soft. "At times it never occurred to me to treat you in any other manner."

"We come together naturally," Qrow said.

Ozpin had nothing to say in return, nothing that needed to be said, instead preferring to simply offer Qrow a small smile, their eye contact held almost too long, certain that Qrow meant more than the obvious – 

The door behind the headmaster opened without warning and Ozpin started as though caught doing something wrong. 

"Dr. Flax," he said, forcing an even tone. 

"Excuse me, sir. Just bringing some fresh sheets."

Ozpin colored, the incident almost forgotten. He cleared his throat, rising to meet the doctor halfway to the bed.

"Allow me," the headmaster said, taking the sheets. 

Dr. Flax merely nodded, understanding the need for discretion. He left quickly, Ozpin watching the door close with a soft sigh. He turned back to Qrow, careful not to look at the incriminating stain on the sheet but also unable to look the student in the eye.

"One last set of fresh sheets," Ozpin said, false cheer in his voice, "before you're given your freedom again."

The young grin grinned at the nervous headmaster. "My heart rate tripped the monitors again, didn't it?" he guessed, gingerly stepping his feet to the ground, bracing himself against the bedside, and at last freeing the bed.

"No new gown?" Qrow asked, poking through the last of the sheets.

"Ah," Ozpin said, as he smoothed the sheets along the edges of the bed, the heavy starch resisting being tamed. "I'm sorry, I can have the nurse bring another – "

He turned from the bed to find Qrow freed of his old hospital gown, eyes automatically taking in far too much, blood rushing to his face.

"Qrow, for _goodness' sake,"_ he said, turning back around quickly, pressing his eyes closed despite already seeing more than enough.

“What?" Qrow asked. "Am I oozing?"

 _"No,"_ Ozpin said emphatically, still facing away from the student. "Actually you look quite good – " _phrasing, old man_ " – but that's hardly my point. Would you care to put something on?"

Qrow searched for something to hold up, sighing when the only material available was his soiled gown. He plucked it from the ground. "This probably isn't good to put on with open wounds after it's been on the ground in quarantine. You sure you want me to chance it? I can just slip into bed until they bring another one. Besides, it's not like you haven't seen me naked before."

"Yes, well, it’s different n – " the headmaster broke off the sentence, still too flustered to trust himself to say more. "Fine. Back in bed with you."

He made a show of avoiding looking at Qrow, taking his seat with averted eyes, seeking out his coffee for something to distract him. Qrow was right on all counts, of course, and under normal circumstances, the professor would be not so desperately shy. 

He paused, staring into his coffee. He didn't truly know what his mind meant by _normal circumstances,_ only that somehow this was different from before, that whether it was the near-death experience or something else, Ozpin could not bring himself to look up unless Qrow was safely nestled back in bed.

Loud ruffles and crunches of the sheets finally quieted signaling the student's settling. When Ozpin still hesitated to turn his eyes to Qrow, the young man spoke, an unidentified tone suspiciously resembling amusement lacing his voice. 

"All done."

Ozpin cleared his throat, glancing at Qrow's carelessly bare chest. 

"Thank you," he said, his mind utterly blank as to what the previous conversation had been. He struggled for words for a moment, choosing a safe topic in lieu of the confusion in his own mind. 

"So. One more night. Beyond being eager to rid yourself of the gown - which you already have done - what are your other plans? Your professors tell me you have been keeping up with most of your assignments."

The student made an obvious noise of disdain. "Yeah well, when school work is the only thing you have to keep yourself from going crazy, you tend to keep up. So aside from some field assignments, I don't have much to do. I even listened to the damn recorded lectures. Spoiler - Port is the best. He gives good visuals, even if you don't believe it all."

Qrow sighed stretching his hands behind his head. "I think I'll go for a long flight. Might spend a few nights outside. Before you lecture me - not off campus. Just... _out,"_ he said, unable to hide the desperation and annoyance in his voice.

"I wasn't going to lecture," Ozpin said, the rebuke making him smile. "I think you've more than earned a bit of freedom after all this. In fact, it's the least reward for your actions."

Crimson eyes glanced curiously at Ozpin.

"Thanks...I'll have to check on my nest too. Clean it up...add to it."

"Ah, yes," the headmaster said. "My office has felt rather empty as of late. I confess in some moments of boredom, I have thought of hoisting a ladder up to see what exactly you've built up there." He chuckled at the thought. "I haven't brought myself to do it, however. Even though it is my office, it seems like a breach of privacy."

The student looked at Ozpin, reproachful. "That's fucked up, Oz. Inspecting another man's nest while he’s away."

"Oh, come now," Ozpin protested. "Wouldn't the curiosity kill you a bit? And despite the fact that it is _my_ office, I haven't touched a thing while you've been away."

"It may be _your_ office, but it's _my_ nest. You don't go into someone's nest without them there. How would you like it if you walked in to _your_ bedroom and found _me_ sitting in _your_ bed?" Qrow challenged.

"I..." Ozpin paused, the visual coming to mind with impossible ease: Qrow wrapped in emerald sheets instead of the stiffly starched fabric of the hospital bed, the same hint of bare chest.

The image was so startling it took a full few seconds for the blush to follow.

The headmaster cleared his throat, painfully aware of Qrow’s narrowed eyes on him. 

"Understood," he said. "I'll purge the curiosity from my mind. It's only fair, as I'm sure you've never thought to try your hand breaking the access code to my bedroom."

"Nope. You invited me in, so I didn't have to."

Ozpin let out a small laugh. “The colored water balloons, yes. I don’t think Ferra ever did forgive me for that. Nevertheless…”

“You’d do it again,” Qrow said, with a grin.

“Perhaps.”

Qrow shrugged, his muscles flexing under the pull of his arms taut behind his head. "Then consider the responsibility accepted. I'll take care of you, whether it's sleeping pills or pranks or assassins. Just don't go through my shit unless I'm there.”

"I suppose I can accept those terms," Ozpin said, eyes following the man's movements. He caught his own gaze and glanced back down to his mug, nearly empty now. "In any case, if I ever tell Ferra you once drugged my coffee, she'll only wonder why she didn't think of it herself years ago."

Qrow laughed, his muscles tensing this time with heartfelt enthusiasm. "If Ferra found out half of what I did, she would wonder how on earth I get away with it all. Besides, she has a higher chance of getting caught. Her poker face stinks when she gets frustrated."

"Yes, it's a good day when I can read murder in her eyes six times before lunch. Perhaps it's best we don't tell Ferra much or anything," Ozpin added. 

"Hell no. I don't want to be hung from the forest trees. The only one that needs to know what I do is me. You're a close second, but even you don't need to know it all."

"I suppose it's just another secret to keep," Ozpin said, shrugging. "Although you know how loathe I am to keep secrets."

"Cute," Qrow drawled. "The only upside to this much free time? You can plan pranks all day. Have some epic ones for when I blow this joint. Might be able to set a record for the murder stare six times before the first hour. Made up my mind on a few other things too. Planning something big for graduation."

"Oh dear," Ozpin said, placing his empty mug on the side table. "I'm not sure whether I should look forward to such an event. That said..."

He let his voice trail for a moment. 

"I'm not exactly dreading it," the headmaster finished. 

"I think you'll like it. Something I've been planning for...a long time.”

"How intriguing," the headmaster said, amused. "More Dust fireworks at graduation, perhaps? Attempting to toilet-paper my clock tower? Somehow I doubt myself capable of guessing the full magnitude of your plans."

The student shook his head laughing. "No Dust, but if I'm lucky, then there might be some fireworks."

"Color me curious, then," Ozpin said. "I will be all impatience until then. In the meantime, I'll be satisfied merely with your release."

"I'll be satisfied with our mutual release," Qrow remarked.

“Professor?”

Ozpin turned in his seat, Dr. Flax giving him a pointed look.

“I think that is the end of visiting hours,” he said, patting Qrow’s hand as he rose from his chair. "It will be lovely for you to come to me again. Tomorrow, then? I can clear my entire schedule. We can plan lunch, or take an airship into town – ”

Qrow laughed, fingers holding onto his hand. “Oz. Maybe we’ll start with breakfast?”

“I’ll mark it as a priority,” Ozpin said, turning back to the doctor reluctantly, feeling Qrow’s fingertips run softly over his palm as he walked away.


	10. In which Ozpin and Qrow begin a different kind of chess game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So what if your insides feel so empty  
> wouldn't you have something to fill  
> what if you were avoiding meaning  
> what if the weight is your free will
> 
> I was like you, broken in two  
> the more I fought the more I knew  
> I heard a sound, within I found  
> the less control the more unbound
> 
> Cause maybe its not your fault"
> 
> "Slow Burn", Telepathic Teddy Bear

Professor Ferra Agrios stepped off the elevator in Ozpin's office exactly at noon, her annoyance at being bothered at lunch evident in her hurried step and unconcealed sighs. Outside the windows, a winter storm had arrived in full force, winds hammering rain and hail against the tower, the building seemingly unconcerned with nature's rage. The headmaster seemed to enjoy the weather, Ferra noted irritably; but then again, she was the damn fool stuck running errands in the rain, while Ozpin found the storm a pleasant excuse to remain in his warm office.

"Why this couldn't wait an hour, I don't know," she said, hoisting a pile of folders in her arms for better leverage. "It took ages to dig through the archive. There's dust in places - well. Never mind. Just know this was a personal favor."

She looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t turn from his post at the window, watching the waves of rainfall that cascaded in chaotic swirls there, hands clasped neatly atop his cane. 

“Sir?” 

No response, his attention anywhere but the office.

“…Ozpin?”

She sighed, dropping the folders on his desk with a loud _thud._

Ozpin’s head turned at that, at least, eyes moving from Ferra to the folders sliding haphazardly across the glass. 

“Personal. Favor.”

The headmaster chuckled, joining her at the desk. “I presume that means this was not an easy task.”

“No, it took ages – oh, never mind it.”

"I sincerely thank you for your determination," Ozpin said, undeterred by her mood, blowing dust from the topmost folder. 

“I swear when you get into one of your reveries, a horde of Grimm could stampede through here and you won’t hear a thing.”

Another smile, wordless, encouraging her bad mood.

“Is it that time of year when you become existential?” Ferra asked.

“No, nothing like that,” Ozpin said, sitting down with the folder in his lap. “Just…preoccupied lately.”

“May I ask why?”

“It’s not related to work.”

“Then as your friend.”

Ozpin cocked his head at her, lips twitching. “If…you are sure.”

“I asked, didn’t I?” Ferra said, her tone harsher than intended. Why did he always make her concern seem so unusual?

“Then perhaps the voices in my head are just a bit louder than usual,” Ozpin said, leaning back in his chair. 

Ferra fell quiet, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t, of course, leaving her to struggle with this non-information, all the things he never told her that she didn’t know how to ask about.

“I thought…” she began, slowly, “that after some time, all your…lives…merged together.”

“So they do, in a manner,” Ozpin said, shrugging. “That is to say, the boy you knew as Ozpin is still here, and he has an influence on my overall being. I confess it is…difficult to explain. I am all of them as a single entity, and yet they are distinct at times, as though they choose to speak up when they feel they must, or when it may be in my best interest to weigh their opinions.”

He spoke so nonchalantly, Ferra thought, for someone explaining how he contained multitudes. 

“Most days, I feel like a single person,” Ozpin said. “My personality, of course, is a fusion of everyone I have been, but my physical body at times can exude a certain…dominant influence.”

Ferra felt herself almost smile. “You always loved sweets as a boy.”

“I still do,” Ozpin said, with a brief laugh. “I am bound to the whims of biology in that regard.”

“If most days they don’t speak to you, what changed today?”

Ozpin’s eyes drifted away, his hand reaching blindly for his mug. “Ferra, do you believe I’m a good person?”

She blinked. “I think that’s a stupid question, sir.”

“Nevertheless, if you could oblige me with an honest answer.”

“Of course you are,” she snapped. “Do you think otherwise?”

“Constantly.”

She went silent at the conviction in his voice, searching his face for some clue to explain this conversation.

“Ozpin, what is this about?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about families,” he said. “One would think that after so many lives, I would learn my lessons, carry the wisdom of age and experience into the next life, but it seems I am destined to be born into some new fool, and begin it all over again. I put a stop to it, several lifetimes ago. I stopped having families, I withdrew from humanity, into solitude. And yet they are inevitable, are they not? Families…find us, all of us. It doesn’t matter that I have not had children in this life or the last; I built a school, with young students, and they all became mine, in a sense. I have them, and you, and Qrow…it’s all inevitable.”

Ferra listened, fighting the prickle behind her eyes. She asked to be let in and now he was allowing it, giving her glimpses into his past.

Children. Families. 

Things normal people placed as the most cherished parts of their lives while he disallowed the same happiness for himself.

She didn’t have children, not unless she counted Ozpin himself, the boy who spoke beyond his years, who hardly needed her mothering, who became headmaster of a combat school three years after being placed in her care. Time never had applied to him in the same way as the rest of humanity, but everything else did. 

She forgot that too often.

“I knew it,” she said. “You always get existential when it storms.”

Ozpin laughed, the tension between them breaking. 

“You should invite Branwen over for a game of chess or whatever it is you two get up to,” Ferra said. “He’s better at cheering you up than I am.”

“He is,” Ozpin said, and then gave a start. “I didn’t mean – ”

“Yes, you did, and it’s perfectly right.”

“You’re irreplaceable, Ferra.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Remember saying that when you give out the end of year bonuses. Well then, is there anything I can do to…I don’t know, make the voices a bit quieter?”

“No,” Ozpin said, with a faint smile, “but thank you. Perhaps…it’s best if I listen to them a bit longer. About this matter.”

“Very well. Then I’ll leave you to that, and the files. What in the world do you want with those old files anyway?"

The headmaster looked up over the frames of his glasses silently, his knowing expression the only hint he wanted to allow.

"Fine, fine," Ferra said, throwing her hands up dramatically. "Don't tell me, that's as it always is. One of your side projects, is it?"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean by that," Ozpin said, flipping through one of the folders distractedly. "I wouldn't dare utilize Beacon resources for personal reasons."

"Huh," Ferra said, the syllable a snort. "Is that all then?"

"Yes, Ferra, thank you."

She turned without acknowledging the thanks, stopping at the elevator when a flash of lightning lit up the office. 

"Are crows meant to be good omens?" she asked.

Ozpin paused, a folder open in his hands, glancing up at her curiously. "I beg your pardon?"

"You like them well enough. I thought perhaps it had some spiritual meaning." Ferra shrugged. "I suppose if they aren't omens, it's less of a consequence."

"Ferra, you're beginning to sound like me. What in the world do you mean?"

"Heaven forbid I sound like _you,"_ she muttered. "Security informed me this morning lightning struck down on school grounds. Apparently, it landed right on a very unfortunate crow."

And immediately, Ozpin dropped the pile of folders, papers scattering to all corners of the office.

"Sir!" Ferra stopped to pick up a few errant sheets that fluttered to her feet, shooting a glance toward her boss. "Sir, are you all right? You went pale so suddenly..."

"I'm fine," he managed at length, avoiding her eyes by gathering up the spilled paperwork. "Just a touch faint."

Ferra pressed her lips together, placing her stack of papers on the desk. "Do you need to lie down for a while? The doctors warned me you might not entirely recover from...for some time."

"Really, Ferra, I'll be fine. It was just a moment's weakness."

She sighed at him, recognizing his stubbornness. 

Every hint at understanding him was followed by some fresh mystery, his answers vague and elusive.

"Ferra, the bird - I presume it did not survive?"

She shot him a dubious look. "I should say not. The groundskeepers already disposed of the poor thing. I hope it wasn't one of yours that you always feed."

"No, I'm sure it wasn't," Ozpin said. "Thank you, I'll be quite all right now."

"Very well. If you feel faint again - even for an instant - please let me know."

"You have my word." 

She left then, still watching him with narrowed eyes as the elevator closed, giving her a brief wave and a smile as though to reassure her he was fine.

_Lying to me, as usual._

***

Ozpin watched her leave, so very slowly, letting out a long breath when the elevator doors finally closed. Papers still strewn about the office, Ozpin reached for his scroll, dialing Qrow's number immediately.

There was no answer. 

His stomach churned, once-swallowed coffee rising in his throat.

It was quite possible, the headmaster thought, nearly frantic, that Qrow was at lunch with his team, his device silenced. He had a private lesson scheduled with Ozpin at three o'clock, but – 

Ozpin could not wait that long. 

Again he dialed Qrow's number; again it was unanswered. Undeterred, he typed a rapid message, fingers shaking.

"When you see this, call me immediately."

The text sent, Ozpin sat back in his chair, out of actions to take. Instantly his mind was a bee's nest of negativity, all the _what ifs_ and horrible possibilities in a swarming chaos. Ferra was right in sensing a certain finality to this incident. After all, what more pointless death was there for a young man of such promise? To survive his childhood, his own dark personality, Grimm attacks and a poisoning assassination attempt, only to be torn apart by the very forces of nature?

It was a cruel, cruel irony, a devil's brand of poetry. Ozpin could find nothing in it to appreciate.

Wave after wave of new, terrible thoughts plagued him. He did not attempt to slow them, or even soften their blows. He absolutely blamed himself for this, for reasons he could not articulate, could not fathom, and yet the dark heaviness hit him just as deeply as when he had given word of former students' passing.

Perhaps deeper. 

Ozpin cared for the safety of all his students but acknowledged the risk each took with their calling, but this - this was not the same. This was a freak moment of nature, a more perfect waste of life.

This was _Qrow._

And this was Ozpin’s curse, watching them all die, his families, his loved ones, too many times.

Even when he avoided the attachments, they slipped into his heart of their own accord.

Ozpin idly glanced about the papered chaos of his office, utterly unconcerned about the files, previously so imperative. Their importance had shifted beside the horrible sensation that something very dear had just been ripped from him, sinking further into his bones with every minute his scroll remained silent.

All he could do now was wait.

***

Skipping into the elevator, Qrow punched in his private code for immediate access to the headmaster's office. The luncheon with his teammates had proven a refreshing after losing a month in the hospital. And after all that had transpired, Team STRQ had some catching up to do to restore their place at Beacon.

Getting out of the hospital felt _fantastic._

Qrow was positively giddy as he waltzed into Ozpin's office; the headmaster sat at his desk, head down, chin cupped in one palm – thinking or stealing a nap between meetings. Even after the ding of the elevator, the man did not lift his head.

Sleeping.

_He never takes naps like a normal person._

Qrow slowed, his steps careful now, slipping soundlessly behind the man at his desk. A gentle shake of the shoulder would wake him, stealing a touch or two of that soft silver hair first before the flutter of heavy eyelids – 

Ozpin was awake. Or at least sleeping with his eyes open, which even Qrow found unusual.

_He sure spaces out a lot for a Huntsman,_ Qrow thought. _Good thing he has me for a bodyguard._

"Oz..." Qrow whispered, placing a gentle hand on the professor's tense shoulder.

The headmaster jerked away from the touch instinctively, spinning in his chair.

For a long moment Ozpin stared at him with wide eyes, like he thought Qrow was a ghost or sprouted antlers.

The silence went on for so long that Qrow shifted on his feet.

"Qrow," Ozpin said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. For half a moment he continued to stare, and then all at once he was on his feet, pulling the student against him, arms tight around Qrow’s torso, almost crushing the breath from his lungs.

Many nights Qrow had restlessly tossed, craving this very attention he was receiving now – Ozpin’s arms around him, pulling him close. Qrow closed his eyes, the warmth of Ozpin’s hands on his back, Ozpin’s smell (coffee and clean soap and something like aged leather) in his nostrils when Ozpin pulled Qrow’s face against his chest, his hand on the back of Qrow’s head, fingers in his hair.

_He feels so good._

But this wasn’t how Qrow wanted it. The tone was different. 

Something had happened, and Ozpin was scared, openly so, and this was just an emotional reaction.

Qrow would not dare mistake this moment as a sign of reciprocated love.

_Still._

Ozpin felt so terribly, wonderfully good.

Qrow said nothing as he raised his arms to return the embrace. He didn’t know what troubled the man so, but he was willing to give any source of comfort he could.

***

Qrow was real enough, the headmaster thought, feeling the student's arms return the embrace. He recognized then all the emotions Qrow must have felt when he sat in disbelief of Ozpin's well-being in the hospital; everything so distinct and yet so muddled, and then above all the sheer _relief –_

He offered Qrow a brief, hard squeeze and then released him, wanting the hug to last a moment longer but dismissing it for the sake of propriety. 

Qrow held Ozpin a split second longer, a subtle hesitation normally unnoticed, his face contorted with concern.

"I'm sorry," Ozpin said, sitting beneath the weight of all his feelings. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"You didn't startle me," Qrow said. "You okay?"

"I am now that I know you are," Ozpin said, sighing. "Forgive my mood. I had some...news that I took quite badly."

The headmaster hesitated to say more; now that Qrow was clearly alive and well before him, his previous reactions seemed unnecessarily dramatic and presumptuous. 

"Ferra mentioned a crow was struck by lightning on school grounds this morning," Ozpin said quietly. "I confess my mind immediately went to...well." He shook his head, not allowing himself to finish the sentence. "Never mind. I have never been happier to be wrong."

Qrow half-smiled and placed a comforting hand on the headmaster's shoulder. Ozpin tried to relax tense muscles, but then Qrow leaned over him and he froze anew. 

"I'm a cockroach, remember? I can't disappoint Ferra."

_Had Qrow just kissed his forehead?_

The movement was so fluid, unconcerned, that Ozpin doubted his own senses, and yet the thought of it made his face warm without warning. 

_What did Qrow just say?_

"Yes, a cockroach," Ozpin murmured, forcing a smile when the student faced him. Both of their smiles seemed forced now, but he would not allow Qrow's attempts to comfort him go unheeded, not when he was sure Qrow needed it too. "Clearly, I should have known better."

"You should have. I haven't trained under the most elusive headmaster for four years without taking a few notes.”

Ozpin laughed in spite of the somber mood that had moments ago been so complete. The firm reality that Qrow was never in danger had finally bled into Ozpin's mind, dissipating the black clouds of the false news. 

"Of course," the headmaster said. "How silly of me to have ever worried."

The others were quiet as well, merging seamlessly now, sharing a frequency of soft, warm affection that seeped over all other thoughts, as though Qrow’s presence and safety united them once more.

Qrow rounded the desk to plop into the familiar chair opposite Ozpin. Ozpin was somehow sorry that Qrow moved away, as if the desk formed a suddenly great divide between them. The residual effects, Ozpin mused, of thinking Qrow had been permanently removed from his life. 

That, and – 

"Careful, Oz. Can't have rumors of an eccentric headmaster running around. Although I wouldn't be surprised if they’re already out there with what you put Ferra through.”

"I think my reputation among academics is either highly distinguished, or utterly eccentric," Ozpin remarked with a shrug. "And Ferra...I'm sure she finds me perfectly delightful when she's not scowling at me. I keep her young."

***

Qrow wriggled in the chair, draping his body across it sideways, lounging his feet off the armrest. Qrow knew his ease would rub off on the headmaster eventually, and so he exaggerated it now, forcing his limbs to relax, shooting Oz a quick smile.

Still. 

The shoe was on the other foot – Ozpin had the displeasure of thinking Qrow dead, even if just the possibility, just like when Qrow watched him collapse in the office. 

And how Ozpin had _worried_ about him.

It was awful, sure, but knowing that the headmaster was shaken by the thought when Qrow rarely saw him lose his cool –

Maybe Qrow’s feelings weren’t so one-sided anymore.

The thought was delicious, Qrow almost enjoying Ozpin’s worry too much. He couldn't take his eyes off the fine details of it: Ozpin's hands, still slightly clenched with concern – Qrow wanted to occupy them in another tight embrace; Ozpin's lips, still slightly more tense than restful – Qrow wanted to kiss them passionately to make the professor forget his worry; Ozpin's eyes – 

Watching Qrow watch him. 

_Oops._

Not that it deterred Qrow now. The assassination attempt and the time spent in the hospital – something between them had changed. 

Even Ferra saw it.

_Ozpin is beginning to see me the way I see him._

***

Ozpin was keenly aware of Qrow's staring, the slow roving of red eyes on him, taking his time to meet the headmaster's gaze. Their conversations had grown so wordless over the years that Qrow's meaning here was more than obvious, and Ozpin had to break the eye contact first, uncertain of how to respond.

Qrow's intensity was wholly uncomfortable, invasive, and yet not an hour prior Ozpin was deeply mourning the loss of it. The lingering touches, the bold stares, the increasing difficulty of pulling away from either, the constant doubt of whether the headmaster wanted Qrow to pull back his attentions or barrel forward with them, to end the loudly unspoken conversations between them. 

"Ferra shouldn’t mind. You keep her heart rate up so she gets a fantastic work out," Qrow said, continuing the conversation that seemed almost forgotten.

And yet the unspoken conversation carried on, between the words.

Ozpin met Qrow’s eyes, reading him like he would during a game of chess, weighing his next move.

"If she didn't enjoy my little games, she would have put an end to them a long time ago.”

***

Qrow almost laughed aloud.

Ozpin wasn’t talking about Ferra anymore.

"She definitely would,” Qrow said. “I don't think anyone could toy with her without her wanting it."

"No, I dare say you're right about that," Ozpin said automatically. Only after the words left his mouth did he seem to reconsider them, flushing a faint pink.

An impulsive response, but an honest one.

Qrow hid a grin while Ozpin busied himself with the papers on his desk and sipped at his coffee – long since chilled – an act Qrow knew was an excuse to avoid eye contact.

_Well,_ Qrow thought, _if he won’t look at me, I’ll make him._

***

"That's cold."

Qrow had risen from his chair when Ozpin turned away and now held the mug at the headmaster's lips. Warm fingers gently stroked Ozpin's hand, coaxing the cup from his grasp. 

"Let me warm it for you," Qrow said, his voice low, his lips turned into a crooked smirk.

There was no help for it; Ozpin felt his face alight with a violent blush. He hadn't even noticed Qrow's rapid movement around the desk, all his focus instead now on the tingling, trailing touch of Qrow's fingertips and the sudden drop in the young man's tone. 

Ozpin knew he had to pull away, to prevent whatever he felt now had a vague inevitability to it. Slowly, slowly he unfurled his fingers from the mug, and only when Qrow turned away with the coffee did Ozpin feel himself return to rationality, cursing his student's stealth and boldness and his own inability to properly react. He cleared his throat and tried to pull himself back together before Qrow returned, pulling uncomfortably at his scarf as the room became suddenly too hot.

***

Qrow took his time returning with the coffee.

He knew damn well he was affecting Ozpin in ways the headmaster would never admit. 

_How much longer can you deny it, Ozpin?_

Alas, patience was something Qrow had picked up over the years. Even if he didn't like it.

_Didn’t like it?_

Qrow fucking hated it.

After allowing plenty of time for Ozpin to recover his senses, the student suspected the headmaster was most definitely no longer in a dismal mood. Flustered, maybe. Bashful, absolutely. But it was much improved over the former.

Qrow returned with steaming cup in hand. "Careful, it's hot." 

Unable to help himself, Qrow made eye contact, Ozpin looking up at him over the rims of his glasses, and winked.

The headmaster went pink instantly.

_Check, Oz._

***

Ozpin took the mug carefully, clearing his throat again at Qrow's obvious meaning, willing his blush down, thinking of anything but how Qrow’s fingers lingered against Ozpin’s hands.

"Thank you," he said, and could think of nothing more to say. He was quite certain he had said more than enough in silent glances and between words, but even so he tried convinced himself otherwise, that he was merely made emotional over the events of the day. 

He stole a glance at Qrow when he took a sip from his coffee, unhappy that the young man would see through absolutely all of it. 

Qrow resumed his sideways lounging in his chair, tilting his head to look up at the gears ticking quietly overhead.

"Sorry it took so long for me to see your messages," he said. “My team had a productive meeting at lunch.”

Ozpin hummed into his coffee, grateful for the shift in subject. "Somehow that seems ominous to the current state of my school grounds and students. Years ago, when I made Miss Rose your team's captain, I did so with the objective of her reigning in your more disruptive behavior. Now it appears to have done the opposite."

Qrow laughed. "She helped tone me down a little...I just also helped tone her up. You're the one that always told me to be a better team player. That includes sharing information and habits to understand each other better. Besides, you would be bored out of your mind if we all played by the rules and personally that is something I can't allow."

Ozpin cocked a raised eyebrow at Qrow. "Personally? How very bold of you to say. Then again, I suppose I did lay down the challenge some time ago to that effect." 

For a moment the headmaster allowed his mind to wander to how long ago that seemed. Only a few years, and yet Qrow was transformed - transformed and showing no sign of slowing his accomplishments, behavioral or otherwise. Ozpin was immensely proud of the progress - personally so, he would say. The volatile seventeen-year-old Qrow Branwen had been intriguing and full of potential, but the headmaster preferred him now, with the confidence of a man who knew himself and no fear of acting upon his own objectives. 

He would be ready to graduate on time with Team STRQ. It was a thought both satisfying and strangely lonely.

Qrow flipped both of his feet back to the floor in front of him, leaning forward on his elbows scarcely sitting on the chair at all now. Odd how closely it resembled a predator about to spring on prey, his voice lowering to almost a growl.

"Since when have you known me to be timid, Ozpin?”

The low tremor in Qrow's voice was designed to unnerve Ozpin, the headmaster knew, and how very irritating that it did exactly that. The professor took a long sip of coffee, avoiding an immediate reply. Qrow was angling for something, and his method of choice was this style of undertone. For once Ozpin was not certain of the young man's motive, whether to lay the groundwork for what neither would admit aloud, or for the fun of watching the headmaster suffer under the implications of the unspoken subtext.

But Ozpin knew one thing for sure now: Qrow was flirting in earnest.

***

There it was: the realization on Oz’s face that Qrow was serious. Despite the jokes, the lighthearted conversation, his intentions were clear.

And yet Qrow knew Ozpin wouldn’t remark on it. Not yet.

"Not since your first year," the headmaster said carefully, "and only then in select circumstances. You preferred to face your fears with violence."

Qrow sighed deeply and hung his head in momentary defeat. Ozpin played the move Qrow expected – which was annoying as all hell. Qrow couldn't force himself on Ozpin, but the least the man could do was acknowledge the fucking intent.

Agitated and restless, needing to pace, the student rose and did just that.

_Soon._

Soon he would graduate, then Ozpin would have no reason to deflect Qrow's affections. He would not have to delude himself with false polite innuendos and Qrow would be free to get to the fucking point already. 

_Pun intended._

***

Ozpin watched the young man pace about the office, feeling guilty as though he had been the one to set off Qrow's mood.

"Did I say something wrong?" the headmaster asked quietly. He suspected he already knew the answer, but it required asking nonetheless. He had only just chased away his black mood; he could not abide leaving Qrow in one.

Ozpin earned a wistful half smile from the pacing student. There was an odd mismatch for his gentle tone masking the pain Ozpin sensed within. The student had grown well accustomed to hiding his true feelings when needed, but headmaster could still sense the hints - perhaps due to the sheer amount of time they spent together.

"No. You're right. I was violent. But it's hard to fear what you have the power to beat. I grew up and realized sometimes you need patience to get what you want, not all brute force." 

"Very good," Ozpin said, offering the student half a smile. "I'm quite happy to hear that. Not to disregard how much work you have done for yourself, but teaching you to appreciate patience has required more than a little patience in return. It's a fine parting gift for your graduation."

"Then you're welcome," Qrow said, with only a slight hint of sarcasm. He flopped back into the chair, sighing.

"I guess we've both learned how to wait to get what we want. The best things are worth waiting for... fighting for. Something like that. Inspirational quotes aren’t exactly my strong suit.”

"Some things can be bought, or bartered for, but those most valuable are the things we have to fight to obtain. Often waiting for it is the hardest manner of fighting."

Qrow scoffed. "You could say that again. Feels like I’ve been fighting years for what I want most, but I didn't even know I wanted it until last year. Time is funny like that..."

"Ah, but sometimes it isn't obvious what we want until we are patient enough to wait for it," Ozpin said, "but if you have come to that realization, I am happy for you. A few more weeks and you'll be more than free to go off into the world to find it."

Qrow gave a laugh. "I know exactly where it is...I just can't make my move until I graduate. Strategy and all that. It's a bitch waiting sometimes, but it will be worth it.”

_Oh._

Graduation.

Qrow’s game plan, stated upfront.

_Check, Ozpin._

_Your king is in danger._

_What defense will you play?_

"Then I would encourage you not to deviate from your goals. Be flexible in your methods, but do not allow yourself to be shaken too quickly. That is my parting advice to you."

_What if I have no defense?_

“Yeah?” Qrow shot Ozpin a sideways look, holding eye contact. 

“Yes,” Ozpin said, quietly.

"That’s good, ‘cause I don't think I could be shaken off this even if I wanted to, but thanks for the advice. I'll make sure not to take no for an answer."

_Check._

“If you’re busy,” Qrow continued, “I can come back at three for my actual appointment.”

“No,” Ozpin said automatically. “If you’ll oblige me, have a cup of coffee. Stay.”

Qrow answered with a smile, settling deeper into the chair, the smug air of someone victorious.

_I’m going to lose this game, aren’t I?_


	11. In which Glynda begins her training in earnest, and a round of sparring is more telling than intended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not in love, I'm not in love  
> And there will be no future tense for us  
> I cannot lie, I know it isn't right to want you  
> Most of the time I stop myself from trying to touch you
> 
> I'm magnetized, I'm magnetized  
> I'm magnetized, I'm magnetized by you
> 
> You bring your light, I'll bring the pain  
> You bring your joy, I'll bring my shame  
> I want to kiss the scar that rips your shoulder  
> Get so close that it hurts  
> Every time I feel us growing closer  
> You pull back
> 
> I'm magnetized, I'm magnetized  
> (I'm magnetized by you)"
> 
> "Magnetized", Garbage

Glynda's training began her third year. 

Professor Agrios had a lot of rules. More so than expected, and not at all the _type_ of rules expected. 

Glynda kept them all on her scroll for reference (Professor Agrios demanded that the scroll be heavily passcode-protected), quickly realizing that she would not remember them all at once. Some rules made perfect sense: sending meeting reminders and minutes within a specific time frame; helping with the administrative workload; memorizing the Beacon rule book; being on-call to Ozpin at almost any time. 

“I understand I may be needed some Saturdays,” Glynda said, “but I’m off on Sundays?”

“Yes,” Professor Agrios said, unconvincingly.

Others sounded almost nonsensical in their whimsy: decaf coffee not being allowed in the faculty lounge; the strict freedoms allowed to crows on campus; the requirement of telling the headmaster a meeting was mandatory even with the knowledge he was unlikely to attend; the occasional need to threaten the headmaster with medical intervention (“only in the first week of the academic year,” Professor Agrios said, unconvincingly). 

"Most of these will come with time and practice," Agrios said, when Glynda wrote down yet another strange rule (the headmaster may choose any manner of demonstration for training exercises, including but not limited to: unscheduled Grimm attacks in classrooms; booby-trapped student lockers; throwing students off of bridges, cliffs, rooftops, and other high elevations, etc, etc).

She was also, Agrios mentioned, with a tone of utter severity, not to ask Professor Ozpin about any of the orders he gave her.

There were also strange goings-on that the rules did not mention, such as the near-constant presence of Qrow Branwen, a student a year above Glynda, who always seemed to be in Ozpin's office for some new academic misconduct, or behavioral training with the headmaster, or simply just to play chess – based on what Glynda observed. Ferra never made mention of the student's presence, acknowledging him merely with a nod.

Glynda could keep secrets well enough to herself, but Branwen made her immensely curious. She could not understand how a student so often in trouble for breaking school rules (and school walls, and school courtyards) could be regarded so firmly in Professor Ozpin's good graces. And yet she could not help but notice how familiar Branwen seemed in Ozpin's office, sauntering in uninvited at odd hours with a careless wave, flopping down in a chair and putting his feet up on the headmaster's desk. At times Glynda was almost sure Qrow had the headmaster's access code to the tower, if the idea wasn't so ludicrous. 

Glynda came in late one evening to bring Professor Ozpin coffee, and Qrow Branwen was there yet again, leaned over the headmaster's shoulder as Ozpin motioned toward the green light of one his monitors, where a map of Mistral was projected. 

"...at least that's what I know from the most recent reports of the area," Ozpin was saying as Glynda approached the desk. He noted her presence with a glance, then another back toward the map, as though deciding whether to keep it visible to her. The moment passed, however, and the map remained. Glynda acknowledged the gesture of trust explicitly, offering the headmaster fresh coffee without a word. 

"Right," Qrow said, ignoring Glynda entirely. "So take care of that, got it. Anything else?"

"Can you do it without being seen?" Ozpin asked, sipping his coffee.

Qrow snorted in response, as though indignant.

"Very well," the headmaster said. "I'll see you in a few days then."

They parted ways without another word, and yet Glynda was sure the looks they gave one another had immense meaning. Qrow left via the elevator that simultaneously heralded Professor Agrios' arrival. She gave Qrow a brief nod and then joined Glynda at Ozpin's desk.

"Off to Mistral?" she asked, noting the map.

"Yes," the headmaster said. "It should be a quick trip. I'll alert his professors about his absence."

Professor Agrios said nothing, but Glynda noticed the hint of disapproval.

"Sir?" Glynda said in the resulting silence.

"Yes, Miss Goodwitch?"

"May I ask..." She hesitated, the words earning a very sharp look from Professor Agrios. "What exactly is Qrow doing in Mistral?"

"Miss Goodwitch!" Professor Agrios hissed.

But Glynda, who had never broken a rule in her life, found herself determined.

"He's working for me," Professor Ozpin said. "In an unofficial Huntsman capacity."

"Sir," Professor Agrios said, her tone all surprise.

"She's the next you, isn't she?" the headmaster said. "She has a right to know."

"You didn't even tell me until Branwen had been working for you for over a year!"

"You didn't ask," Professor Ozpin said reasonably. 

Glynda strongly suspected the conflict on Professor Agrios' face was one debating murder, and declined to ask the headmaster anything further.

At least when Ferra Agrios was around.

Glynda began bringing Professor Ozpin coffee more frequently, taking his heavy silver coffee set to be cleaned in the teacher’s lounge (her Semblance making this chore remarkably easy), and bringing it back up, refilled, at times when Professor Agrios was in a meeting, or punishing Team STRQ, or otherwise preoccupied. 

Some times Professor Ozpin was too busy to acknowledge her, but with each day of silently fresh coffee, he began to notice her presence, nodding at her if he was on a conference call, or offering a quiet, “Thank you, Miss Goodwitch” while viewing his intimidatingly long email list. 

After a week, she placed the tray on his desk and glanced at the monitors above him, noting the lull in his usually busy schedule. 

“Sir, if I may…”

“Yes, Miss Goodwitch?”

She paused, uncertain of what exactly it was she wanted to ask, only that it seemed important to ask it now, when Professor Ozpin gave her that obliging look and no one else was around to hear his secrets.

That’s what they were, after all: secrets.

Whatever it was that Professor Ozpin did outside of Beacon Academy business was his own, something that Glynda only heard mentioned in whispers or silent, exchanged looks between the headmaster, Ferra Agrios, and the fourth year, Qrow Branwen.

“I hope your business in Mistral went well.”

Professor Ozpin smiled, reaching for the coffee tray. “It did, thank you.”

“And Mr. Branwen?”

“He is well. I’m expecting him later this evening for debriefing.”

Glynda nodded. It was minimal information, and yet it was information Ozpin trusted in her.

“Sir…the business you have outside of the school…”

“Yes, Miss Goodwitch?”

Glynda searched for the ways to express her question discreetly. “It’s for the greater good, is it not?”

“I absolutely hope so.”

“But…it’s not…legal.”

She bit her lip, realizing how blunt her words came out.

But Professor Ozpin smiled. 

“Why don’t you ask me that again,” he said, “when you graduate and become my deputy headmistress.”

_Deputy headmistress._

A dream, a year and a half away.

But…

“Hypothetically, sir,” Glynda said, “you’re asking me to condone possibly illegal activities using academy resources. Using students without Huntsman certification.”

“Now, Miss Goodwitch,” Professor Ozpin said, pouring himself a cup of coffee, “whenever did I say that?”

Glynda paused, considering what this meant – the confession without confessing.

“Would it affect your desire to work for me?”

“No, sir,” she said, without thinking.

And Professor Ozpin smiled again. 

“That’s all I needed to know,” he said. “And you, Glynda? What do you need to know?”

_Glynda._

A shift in the conversation. 

This was personal, then.

“Everything,” she said, “when you have reason to trust me with it.”

Ozpin met her eyes and held them, dropping them slowly, his lips still faintly upturned. 

“I think we understand each other quite well,” he said. “That’s all for now, Miss Goodwitch.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and when she retreated to the elevator, waiting for the doors to close, Ozpin held the same quietly thoughtful expression on his face, a signal she already recognized as having said precisely the right thing.

***

Two months after Qrow Branwen’s release from the hospital, Professor Ozpin mentioned off-handedly that he intended on resuming the student’s private training with that of Summer Rose.

He had, no doubt, expected the remark to pass unheeded, aided by a casual tone amidst too many things to do at once.

He certainly hadn’t expected Ferra Agrios to slam her coffee mug onto the glass desktop.

Ozpin jumped – _literally_ jumped, rising a few inches off his chair, turning wide brown eyes on her.

She would have enjoyed it if she wasn’t so indescribably angry with him.

“Something on your mind, Ferra?” he asked, his voice still lightly shocked.

“Branwen is still playing catch-up on his field work,” Ferra snapped. “He’s still completing physical therapy. _You’re_ still completing physical therapy.”

Ozpin relaxed, reaching for his coffee mug. “Your concern is touching, Ferra, but I did not intend on simply picking up where we had left off. I imagine both of us will need to ease into things.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” she huffed. “You’re liable to do whatever it is you think you need to for those students without a second thought for yourself. You’re so noble it’s _painful.”_

“Your insults are rather complicated, Ferra.”

“If you won’t take it easy on yourself for yourself, do it for Branwen.”

_There it is, the magic words: Qrow Branwen._

Ozpin’s face changed, subtle but noticeable, as he considered this argument. 

“He won’t let you push yourself,” Ferra said, her voice softening, “because he cares about you. We both do.”

“All right, Ferra, you win this round,” Ozpin said, with a faint smile. “I concede to your warnings. I’ll make it a very light training session.”

“I know you will,” Ferra said haughtily, “because I’m going to supervise.”

“Will you?” Ozpin said, looking surprised again. “You’ve never been interested before.”

“Before when? The time a student broke three of your ribs, or the time I watched you almost die by poison?”

“If it’s any consolation, Miss Rose is unlikely to poison me during – “

“Ozpin.”

He fell silent, his smile faltering. “’Your levity isn’t needed, old man,’” he said. “Of course. My apologies.”

Ferra sighed. “I just wish that you would see yourself the way that I see you. The way Branwen sees you.”

Ozpin said nothing, eyes drifting to the safer sight of his coffee mug.

“Very well, call your pet projects and I’ll spent this perfectly fine day in your cryptic vault.”

“Thank you, Ferra,” Ozpin said, and reached for his scroll.

Once in the vault, of course, Ferra began to regret her decision to allow this at all; Summer Rose arrived with a smile and cheerful hello, Qrow Branwen following with his usual slouch, even as his slight smirk gave away his pleasure at being called back into training with the headmaster. Ozpin greeted them both warmly, ignoring the surprised looks they gave Ferra.

“Professor Agrios is here in case of emergency,” Ozpin explained in response to their expressions, “which of course I do not anticipate.” 

“Afraid we’ll one-up you, old man?” Qrow teased.

“If I didn’t suspect you held back, that might concern me,” Ozpin said evenly, raising an eyebrow. “Your pendant is crooked.”

Ferra glanced at the necklace she hadn’t seen before, a small silver cross dipping down his neckline, bent dramatically to one side.

“Ah, yeah,” Qrow said, fingering the pendant. “The chain broke right after you gave it to me. Bad luck, right? I rigged it back on with pliers, but couldn’t get it straight…”

Ozpin hummed, a hand reaching out to adjust the cross. “Never mind it. It suits you this way.”

Qrow met his eyes and for a moment, Ferra had the distinct impression that the men forgot anyone else was present.

A _long_ moment.

Summer shot Ferra a look – knowing and unsurprised.

_She’s smart enough to see it too,_ Ferra mused. 

Of course, by now, anyone even remotely close to Ozpin and Qrow had to see it now, unless they were the daftest person alive.

Ferra gave a loud, fake cough and Ozpin wrenched his hand away from Qrow’s chest, turning away almost quickly enough to conceal his faint blush.

“A gift, sir?” she asked.

“Ah, yes,” Ozpin said, clearing his throat. “Qrow is twenty-one now.”

“That’s right!” Summer exclaimed, undeterred by the tension in the vault. “We threw a big party the other night!”

“I heard,” Ferra said dryly. “I was on-call in case you destroyed another dorm.”

Summer laughed nervously, but Qrow grinned. “You shoulda crashed, Professor. It was a good time, from what I remember.”

“Mr. Branwen, this is a _dry_ campus – ”

“Shall we get started?” Ozpin interjected.

Ferra sighed, falling quiet. 

She leaned against the wall beside the elevator as the students and headmaster took their places. 

“Both?” she said, earning a vaguely annoyed look from Ozpin. “At once? Sir, are you sure that’s wise?”

“I’m perfectly capable of handling myself,” the headmaster said, with the slightest edge in his voice.

“Of course you are, sir, but – “

“Ferra, a thousand years of training brings a certain amount of confidence.”

Ferra looked at the students – Qrow, who understood, and Summer, who did not.

Yet.

_If you want to air your dirty laundry in front of her, Ozpin, then fine by me._

“Recklessness, you mean,” Ferra retorted. “Limited to the body of a thirty-year-old – “

“Why don’t I go first?” Branwen cut in. He nodded at Summer, who wore a concerned expression at the teachers’ argument. “We’ll see how it goes from there?”

Ferra and Ozpin exchanged displeased glances, the headmaster smoothing his into something unreadable. 

“If Miss Rose does not mind sitting this one out…”

“Oh, no, please,” Summer said, retreating to where Ferra stood on the sidelines. “I don’t mind.”

“Very well,” Ozpin said, his voice carefully emotionless now.

Ferra restrained rolling her eyes.

He was petulant as a boy when he didn’t get what he wanted; adult or immortal, some things didn’t change.

She crossed her arms as Qrow squared his shoulders, pulling Harbinger from his back, the sword extending with a glint in the dim light of the vault. 

Ozpin gave his cane a quick swish. “When you’re ready, Mr. Branwen,” he said, “and I will know if you go easy on me.”

And with a grin, Qrow rushed at him.

_Boys with toys and repressed feelings,_ Ferra thought irritably. Well, so long as they wore themselves down without breaking a window or demolishing a building, she had few enough complaints. 

Summer looked up at Ferra’s sigh, silver eyes still holding a flicker of concern.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Miss Rose?”

“Is…everything okay?”

“What do you mean?”

Summer shifted on her feet, nervously tucking a strand of red-black hair behind her ear. “I mean, after Professor Ozpin’s…injury…”

“He told you about that, did he?” Ferra said, watching as Ozpin deflected another of Qrow’s almost reckless charges, the young man bouncing back on his feet at the connection of the headmaster’s cane. 

“Yes,” Summer said. “And about…other things.”

“Salem.”

Summer flinched, eyes dropping. “It’s true, then,” she said, as though she hadn’t doubted Ozpin’s word so much as wished against it.

“I have every reason to believe so.”

Summer nodded. “Well, you and Professor Ozpin seem so close…”

Ferra raised an eyebrow at the student and Summer flushed. 

“I didn’t mean _close_ close, but…friends.”

“I know what you meant, child. We are reluctant friends,” Ferra said, almost laughing at the student’s embarrassment. “I think we would be very good friends if he wasn’t so unbearably stubborn. But that may be something…that comes with age.”

Summer’s gaze lingered on Ferra’s face for a long moment. “You mean…like if Salem wasn’t the only one who…couldn’t die.”

_So he really hadn’t told her that much._

Of course not. Qrow Branwen was his only true confidante these days.

“Yes, Miss Rose, like that…but not like that, else I wouldn’t spend every moment of my days worried about him.”

Summer nodded – probably, Ferra mused, understanding a lot more than the professor said aloud. 

A clatter of metal near them brought Ferra’s attention back to the sparring match, Harbinger clanging over the concrete before them; across the room, Qrow narrowly avoiding the almost invisible strikes of Ozpin’s cane, weaving about until a particularly close attack brought the cane just inches from Qrow’s face. Qrow’s hand was around the shaft in an instant, pulling cane and headmaster with him, Ozpin toppling over in a graceless somersault, the two men collapsing into a pile of limbs on the hard floor.

Ferra craned her neck as they came to a rough halt, Qrow atop the headmaster, Ozpin’s hands still on his cane, held down over his head as Qrow grinned victoriously.

The moment stretched on, Ferra beginning to wonder if the old man had broken something beyond his pride.

But slowly, Qrow’s grin faded into something softer, a smile that meant something else entirely, Ozpin’s grip on his cane easing, releasing the weapon altogether, hands empty as Qrow held down his wrists, a signal of quiet surrender.

Clearly, in more than one way.

_Oh, you stupid, besotted old man._

“Professor,” Summer whispered, reminding Ferra of her presence. “Should we intervene?”

“There’s nothing to be done about it now,” Ferra said peevishly. 

Summer’s eyes drifted back to the two men on the floor, wide with meaning. 

Ferra coughed her loudest, fakest cough.

Both men turned toward their audience as one, Qrow giving Ferra a shameless wink as he climbed off Ozpin, the headmaster sitting up more slowly, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes.

Qrow trotted over to retrieve his weapon, his grin unshakable, knowing that he hadn’t merely won a sparring match, his elation contagious, Summer sharing a wide smile.

“Congratulations, Qrow,” Summer said.

“Thanks,” Qrow said.

“Your face will freeze like that,” Ferra said.

“Come on, I think I earned it,” Qrow said, undeterred.

“You’re shameless,” Ferra muttered, watching as Ozpin dusted himself off and picked up his cane. “You had witnesses, you know.”

But Qrow only shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “Summer keeps secrets pretty well, don’t you think?”

“You’re playing fast and loose, Mr. Branwen,” Ferra said, too low for Summer to overhear. “You’re still a student, and he’s still your headmaster.”

Qrow’s smirk finally faded, his expression turning sour. “You don’t think I fucking know that? It’s just that…” He glanced back as Ozpin approached. “You see it, don’t you?”

She sighed at the desperation in his voice.

“Of course I do,” she murmured. “Just…be careful, Branwen.”

Qrow made a disgruntled noise. “Fine. But only because the Masquerade is next weekend. No promises then.”

He stalked off before she could respond, and then Ozpin was in front of her, his expression distant and preoccupied. 

“Sir, are you all right?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes.” He ran a hand through his hair absently – a certain sign of nerves, the subtle tells of anxiety that took Ferra years to recognize. “Perhaps you were right about pushing myself too soon. I’m afraid my focus is…elsewhere.”

_I’m sure it is._

“Sir, if you’re not feeling well…”

“No, it’s not…” Ozpin sighed, glancing at where Qrow and Summer had wandered off, stretching and talking quietly amongst themselves. “I’m just not myself at the moment. Please give my apologies to Miss Rose, and reschedule our training session for later this week.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ozpin sighed again, his shoulders slumping a fraction, weary with what Ferra knew preoccupied him. 

_He’s still struggling over his feelings._

“At least the Historical Masquerade is next week,” Ozpin murmured.

_Oh dear._

“It will keep my attention…elsewhere.”

Ferra restrained the very real desire to shake him.

“…yes, sir.”

He offered her a nod by way of farewell, stepping into the elevator, the doors closing before the students could notice.

“Oz?”

But not for long.

Qrow returned, watching the elevator floor rise. “He left?”

“He plans to reschedule Miss Rose’s training – “

Qrow cursed, loud enough to echo in the vault.

“Branwen.”

Qrow shot her a murderous look.

“You’re pushing him too fast,” Ferra said, unimpressed by the unspoken threat. “Slow down. He’ll get there.”

“Yeah,” Qrow said, as though he didn’t hear her, pushing the button for the elevator. “Sure.”

“I mean it, young man. _Slow. Down.”_

Qrow tapped a foot impatiently as the elevator returned. “Got it, Ferra.”

“So help me, if you chase after him – “

But Qrow was already inside, the doors closing swiftly, the student giving her a careless wave.

_These impossibly stupid, stubborn men –_

“Professor?”

Ferra regarded Summer Rose unhappily. “Yes?”

“Are…you sure everything is okay?”

Ferra let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Men,” she said, pressing for the elevator again, “are very stupid creatures. And those two are the stupidest of all them.”

Summer offered a quiet smile. “Maybe,” she said. “But it’s hard, you know.”

“What is?”

“Wanting someone you can’t have.”

Ferra blinked. 

“I suppose you’re right,” she said after a moment, her voice softening. “I’m sure it is. Well, come along, child, I’ll make you some tea for the trouble of coming down here for nothing.”

Summer grinned. “Can I see the teacher’s lounge?”

“Oh, why the hell not. I’m breaking all sorts of rules these days.”

Summer followed her into the elevator with a bounce. 

_The Historical Masquerade._

Ferra knew what Qrow was planning – at least in theory – and she had promised to leak information to him regarding Ozpin’s costume.

Was it the ethical thing to do? She was certain it wasn’t.

But was it the _right_ thing to do? Did she believe two people’s happiness could depend on her unprincipled meddling?

Ozpin would hate her if he knew her plans.

Ozpin would be miserable for another lifetime if she didn’t follow them through.

_That,_ Ferra mused, _makes the decision for me._


	12. In which Ozpin attends a school dance and everything goes extremely well at first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Everything reminds me  
> Music surging bedroom dance  
> Crazy spinning sultry glance  
> I inhale your presence still
> 
> These your arms of daring grace  
> Encircle me what pact is made  
> Desire is your masquerade  
> Want me you never will
> 
> You gave me truth, I chose illusion  
> Now we are used to this confusion  
> But I know  
> Yes, I know this story has to end
> 
> Never groped for a connection  
> Never hoped for more affection  
> For I know  
> I know I am your friend  
> Only your friend..."
> 
> \- "Unwritten Letter No. 1", Vienna Teng

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: aggressive ballroom dancing, moderate sexual content, sexual situations

Professor Ozpin hummed along with the music playing in his office, looking forward to the evening despite himself. Another mid-year Historical Masquerade, a welcome change from last year's... _interesting_ Vytal Festival. He was happy to be home and had personally approved the masquerade's music list to ensure there were an adequate number of lively tracks. 

He found himself in quite the mood for a tango. 

There was, of course, no real reason he had for believing that anyone would ask him to dance, given that students rarely were so bold, and he was not inclined to do much asking himself.

He certainly wasn’t expecting – or hoping – for a specific pirate to return.

The odds were against that.

Probably for the best, no matter how increasingly desperate Ozpin was for a distraction.

This year Ozpin had chosen yet another diplomatic figure - activist, humanitarian, keeper of peace of the old kingdom of Mistral, Frederick Zlatan. Ozpin had read his books as a much younger man and still regarded them as nothing less than near-perfect wisdom, a calming influence when the headmaster found his own world a touch too demanding.

For all his humanitarianism, Zlatan had not been a modest man. He had lived richly, donating great amounts of wealth to the poor but never so much that he went without costumes weighted down by heavy gold embroidery. The philosophical robes he preferred did little to mask the obvious opulence of filigree and trim and brocade. This Ozpin chose to emulate for this year's ball, the robes heavy as he clasped a gold and leather belt around his waist, completing the disguise with gold silk slippers and a blond wig. He tied the jeweled mask over his eyes and smoothed his newly gold hair down, impressed by his own inability to recognize himself.

He turned off the music but continued to hum the ghost of the melody as he rode the elevator down to the main hall, nearly colliding with Ferra Agrios when the doors opened.

"I beg your pardon, Ferra," he said. "I thought to meet you down this time."

She stared in some manner of mild shock. "Sir? You look...so gold."

He chuckled. "Thank you, Ferra. It is the defining characteristic of Mr. Zlatan, unless one considers his work. And who might you be tonight?"

Ferra gave a brief, mocking bow, spreading her ebony gown in a crude curtsy. "Alim Merle, the first headmistress of Shade Academy."

"You look quite lovely in black, Ferra."

"Oh hush," she said shortly, while Ozpin noted her blush with amusement. "I don't dress up for you."

"Of course not," he said, offering his arm. "I merely get to enjoy it as a consequence."

Ferra rolled her eyes, a sure sign she was flattered and did not wish to say so.

The first dance of the evening was in full swing when the professors arrived. Ferra pointed out a few other faculty members for Ozpin's reference.

"I suppose I'll say hello to them and let them know I've arrived," she said. "Have fun at the punch bowl."

Ozpin chuckled. "You know me so very well," he said, parting ways with another graceful bow in her direction. 

She sighed at his theatrics. "Do try to relax, Ozpin. I will call you only if there's an emergency."

"Thank you, Ferra. Don't work too hard."

"Pot, kettle," she murmured, and Ozpin chuckled again as he strolled off in search of refreshments.

The punch bowl, flanked on all sides by shy and reclusive students and guests, boasted the same unnaturally bright red concoction as always, Ozpin pouring himself a cup in amusement. 

_Some things never change._

“Well, well,” a low voice said, sudden in Ozpin’s ear. "My prisoner returned..."

Ozpin nearly dropped his punch at the unexpected arms around his waist, his face flushing instantly at the intrusive manner of embrace, hands pulling him until he turned around. Immediate protests formed on his tongue, but as his eyes fell upon his captor, they evaporated like smoke. 

In an instant, Ozpin had been transported two years earlier, to an evening remembered with fondness, with a sense of magically impossibility, of kisses stolen in the darkness.

The pirate from that night stood, his arms still around Ozpin’s waist, a grin on his lips, cocking his head to make the feathers on his hat dance.

“Or shall I call you my golden treasure?" the pirate asked, pulling the headmaster closer yet.

"Volodymyr," Ozpin said, breathless. "I didn't expect to see you here."

 _Very smooth,_ a voice within offered.

"Trying to rescind my invitation? That's not very diplomatic, Frederick Zlatan. Here I was under the impression you would be a better prisoner than Livius Magna..."

Volodymyr’s voice was lower than Ozpin recalled, the sort of timbre that vibrated within those who heard it, the headmaster suppressing a shiver.

_What is it about this man?_

"I didn't mean to imply I was unhappy to see you," the professor said hastily. "I assumed that you might be unable to attend, or else in a costume I would not recognize. I confess I am overly fond of this one..." He allowed his voice to trail, brushing a bit of feather from the pirate's lapel.

_It seems I’ll be dancing tonight after all._

"Then show me your fondness after a tango.”

Volodymyr seemed to read Ozpin's mind, taking advantage of both the lively tempo that began in the ballroom and the headmaster's inability to protest, leading the older man onto the floor without another word.

The pirate took the lead and Ozpin fell into place, surprised when Volodymyr slipped in front, taking Ozpin's hand and bringing it up to his chest.

"The Mistral Tango?" the professor murmured.

"Do you mind?"

 _Hardly._

Ozpin hadn't danced the Mistral Tango in years, a style known for its more than suggestive elegance, once that demanded less than a breath between dancers. Despite his lack of practice, Ozpin was certain he had the proper motivation to recall the steps. 

“Not at all,” Ozpin murmured, and felt rather than heard the low laugh that came from his partner.

The first beat of the tango, and Volodymyr's entwined fingers spun him around, once, twice, until Ozpin landed with his back to the pirate's chest, a hand sliding down the professor's waist. Another beat, another spin, and the two men were face to face; Ozpin slipped one hand through the pirate's hair, the other trailing slowly down Volodymyr's arm. Another beat - the two men stood side by side, feet moving in simultaneous steps, the measure ending with a close embrace. 

_Oh. He’s perfect._

This is where the tango slowed despite its tempo, Volodymyr's hands tracing the outline of his partner's body upward, almost agonizingly slow, until one arm slipped around the professor's waist and another clasped his fingers tightly. One two steps together, and then they moved as one, Volodymyr's bold steps forward complementing Ozpin's graceful reverse, breaking into a more traditional tango.

But only for a moment. The Mistral Tango was nothing if not dramatic, with exaggerated dips that bent Ozpin backward until he could have reached and touched the floor, and then the snap back up into the pirate's hard embrace. Another few measures of simultaneous steps, another spin that brought the two men nose to nose. Ozpin could feel the pirate's breath on his lips for a moment before they broke apart again, Volodymyr flinging the professor away forcefully, only so that he could seized Ozpin's wrist and spin him back once more. The steps repeated here, building to the final choreography, in which the final spin ended with Ozpin's leg wrapped around his partner, a last, lingering dip of the headmaster toward the floor.

Ozpin, nearly upside down, the pirate's strong arm holding him up by the small of his back, panted from the exertion, reveling in the nearly flawless skill of his partner.

_Perfect._

Volodymyr gracefully straightened his partner, trailing his free hand from knee to chest to chin as he did so.

Ozpin closed his eyes against the touches, unfamiliar and intimate and _wonderful._

"Wonderful," came the praise from his partner, the stranger who so easily read Ozpin’s mind.

“Thank you,” the headmaster said faintly.

Scattered applause broke out and Ozpin opened his eyes, brought back to the reality that the men were in the middle of a dance floor, surrounded by dancers who had stepped aside to watch two professionals perform.

"I think we could do with some fresh air," Volodymyr said abruptly, and then his hand was around Ozpin’s wrist, pulling the headmaster away from the curious eyes on them both, toward the balcony outside where –

_Oh._

Ozpin allowed his partner to guide him wordlessly, still breathless from the dance. The applause barely unnerved him at all, even knowing that Ferra undoubtedly had seen it. She had told him to enjoy himself, after all, and he was more than willing to do so now.

And yet…

The familiar balcony. Ozpin took a long breath of the cool air, pausing at the railing in the darkness of the building's shadows to overlook the scenery for a moment before stealing a glance at his mysterious pirate. 

"You're even better than I remember," he said at length, the silence comfortable but somehow still strained, a sharp tension he was sure neither wished to deny.

 _He’s magnetic,_ a voice within offered, too many personalities in the statement to distinguish which of his past lives agreed.

What mattered the most now was that Ozpin’s current host agreed, his body only too willing to follow the masked pirate to this balcony, to what Ozpin knew would come next.

"Practice." 

Yet another short reply. The pirate leaned against the railing at Ozpin's side, his eyes searching Ozpin's face, but stopping at his lips. "I have learned many things during my travels across the world..."

Ozpin still felt winded, but now he was unsure whether it was due to the dance or the proximity of the man before him, so elaborately costumed but so careless in all other regards, as though he was perfectly aware that he had the power and control of the moment.

And he did, the professor acknowledged. Volodymyr's reappearance had a magical, nostalgic familiarity that Ozpin would call almost enchanting; paired with the young man's talent on the dance floor, the professor was only too happy to find the pirate's eyes lingering on his lips.

"I do admire worldliness in a man," Ozpin said, his voice dropping involuntarily, as though inviting the pirate to inch ever closer to hear him.

And so Volodymyr did, leaning in a mere breath away from Ozpin's lips. 

Ozpin’s stomach turned gently, a pleasant flutter coaxed forward by the memory of how good the pirate’s lips felt years before.

"Shall I show you?" 

A rhetorical question, Volodymyr’s mouth pressed against Ozpin before the headmaster could think to speak, hands clutching the gold brocade, pulling Ozpin closer. One arm slipped around Ozpin’s waist, drawing him closer until Volodymyr’s entire body was pressed against him.

_Oh –_

The pirate's kiss was just as demanding as Ozpin remembered from years before, hard and searching, Volodymyr's arms firm about his body, as though daring Ozpin to pull away. The headmaster made a noise of symbiotic approval and frustration when the pirate king pressed against him, waist against waist, his body on fire now, a strong hand on the small of his back, willing him to never escape. 

Escape, however, was the last thing on Ozpin's mind. He draped his arms over the pirate's shoulders, a willing captive, only hoping that this time, Ferra Agrios would not call to interrupt.

Volodymyr broke the kiss reluctantly, keeping Ozpin pinned against the railing, against his own body –

_His perfect body, his perfect touches –_

"You're...more energetic than before," Volodymyr panted, grinning. 

“Perhaps I missed you,” Ozpin murmured, with the boldness of one drunk, his blood racing within him.

The pirate’s grin morphed into a smirk. 

Where lips could not go, hands traced the trim and swirls of the golden brocade, fingers lingering on the opulent top of the belt buckle. 

Ozpin’s breath caught sharply.

“Nervous?” came the quiet tease.

“That depends,” Ozpin whispered, “on whether you’re a gentleman.”

“I never said I was.”

Ozpin nearly groaned out loud, his head drooping against Volodymyr’s shoulder.

_He says such horrible things and it’s impossibly perfect –_

Fingers swam back up to the cravat and pulled the fabric free.

The professor's breath caught when the cravat was whipped from his throat, the hard pressure of the pirate's fingertips exploring the exposed skin. He opened his mouth to respond to Volodymyr's comment but could not recall exactly what he had said, distracted by the low groan of his companion and the soft pull on his vest. 

_He wants me,_ Ozpin thought absently, the idea so dreadfully wonderful that the headmaster felt another gentle turn of his gut.

Then he realized that Volodymyr’s hands were traveling down Ozpin’s shirt, plucking the buttons open one by one.

The implication to undress him – even if partially – forced some objection to surface in Ozpin's foggy mind.

 _Here and now?_

In the scant shadows of a crowded ballroom? 

He thought of Ferra, of his other faculty, of anyone who just happened to step out on the same balcony for fresh air and find them in this scandalous position.

And yet. The temptation the pirate offered was overwhelming. Everything about him – his rough charm, aggressive confidence, and, dare Ozpin admit it, his potent sexuality – made Volodymyr nearly impossible to resist.

Without a verbal protest, however, the pirate's hands continued their mission. Ozpin struggled to find words to express his conflicting emotions.

"How far do you intend to take this?" he murmured. The question wasn't exactly what he meant, almost some manner of perverse invitation, as though admitting his inability to pull away. 

A raspy chuckle purred in Ozpin's ear before the king suckled the lobe into the heat of his mouth. 

A violent shutter went through the headmaster, his hands grasping upward until fingers entwined in the pirate's hair, pulling ever so gently as rough hands roamed over the bare skin of his torso. 

"Just opening the shirt...you can keep the clothes on.”

Wonderfully awful hands, pulling open clothes when Ozpin was so perfectly _alight –_

"The gold is a cute decoy to the real treasure..." 

The raspy whisper came with a gentle tweak of a nipple, Ozpin gasping aloud, the pirate’s lips descending onto the headmaster’s throat, teeth and tongue and _utter perfection –_

"Oh _hell."_

The breathless curse was involuntary, Ozpin feeling his spine go limp at the assault on his neck, relying on Volodymyr's arms to keep him upright, melting against the man who had begun such an unfair attack. 

This was not Ozpin’s first tryst but it was in this body, and this body seemed so _receptive,_ so desperate for what Volodymyr offered, blood racing, heart pounding.

Had another’s touch always undone him, or was that unique to this body?

The pirate king dropped from view and, beginning at the Ozpin's navel, licked a hot moist trail to his untouched nipple, swirled into the hungry mouth, and suddenly Ozpin could not think at all.

_Ozpin._

_Come to your senses._

_"Ah_ \- wait, Volodymyr, please – "

Ozpin tried to catch his breath, to keep his head from spinning, knowing that this was creeping into very, very dangerous territory, and that soon he wouldn't care at all if he truly did become the pirate's slave for the night.

But his employees, colleagues, and _students_ were mere meters away, only separated by the wall and shadows. True, no one but Ferra knew him in this costume, but the idea of being discovered, anonymously or not, gave Ozpin just enough motivation to force the pirate to pause his enticing attentions. 

That, and the concerned voices echoing in the back of his mind, fogged over by his body’s growing desperation.

Ozpin's request was greeted by an audible growl. 

"Yes?" Volodymyr muttered. He offered Ozpin’s nipple one more flick of his tongue, the headmaster shuddering violently at the electricity that skipped over his body. 

He turned eyes upward, his expression daring Ozpin to protest, to deny that he wanted this.

_Dear gods how I want this –_

Despite the logic and necessity of pulling back, the demand of the pirate's eyes made Ozpin hesitate anew. 

"I..." He cleared the breathless tremor from his throat, searching for words. "Despite...all of this, I'm not in the habit of such..." 

Still his articulation eluded him, scattered by the nearness of his captor, by the hot hands still on the bare skin of his chest.

"I'm really not the kind of man who does this," Ozpin finished at length. It sounded like the worst sort of excuse, a plea to his supposed respectability while half-dressed and allowing a perfect stranger to – 

"After all, I don't even know you..."

The pirate laughed. "Isn't that the point? You aren't yourself tonight...and Frederick Zlatan certainly wasn't one to deny himself something he wanted."

“No, but I…”

The pirate straightened, pressing his full body against the headmaster, Ozpin restraining a whine at the very _obvious_ interest of his partner, hard against his thigh. 

"We can go somewhere else if you'd prefer?" he offered, a soft whisper in Ozpin's ear.

_He’s making this so difficult to refuse._

_Ozpin. You don’t know him._

_I know, but he’s…wonderful._

_Think. Think with your head._

_I’m trying._

_He’s not Qrow._

_That’s_ exactly _the point._

But the mention of Qrow’s name, the thought of intimacy with a man who was _not_ Qrow – 

"I...don't think I should," Ozpin said, and yet his arms moved on their own accord, still wishing to reach for the man who made him question his own morality, his rationality. "That is to say – I know I shouldn't."

"But will you?" Volodymyr pushed, a free hand dancing along the prisoner's neck. “Your pulse is racing.”

Just the simple touch of his neck made Ozpin's breathing escalate. He cursed internally at his lack of resolve, of this strange impossible attraction to a man who hadn't even shown his face, of the strength of the morality that refused to let him go. 

Both men wanted this, and they both knew it.

 _But Qrow,_ a dozen voices whispered to him.

"I want to," Ozpin whispered without thinking, shocking himself with his own blatant admission, "but it's complicated..."

"Not for two long gone historical figures. It's just a night of fun, then it's done. A nice secluded location, cloaks stay on. No one ever has to know, including the real us..."

But the mention of reality was just the amount of resolve Ozpin required, shaking his head, already regretting the decision he knew he had to make. 

"I wish I could put my identity aside," he said, with a small smile, "but I'm afraid it comes with stipulations that keep me rather lonely. And I suspect," he added, half to soften the rejection, half speaking the truth, "that you could easily become a bad habit I would not wish to quit."

***

Qrow ground his teeth together in frustration.

Two years earlier, Qrow had experienced what he had, at the time, considered one of the most horrific, embarrassing nights of his life. Now, he was doing everything he could to relive the experience – and to improve it.

Qrow had watched Ozpin for weeks from his nest in the headmaster's office and needless to say, the older man was positively itching for a passionate tango – among other things; and yet now Ozpin denied him, citing _morality_ and whatever other bullshit held him back.

Qrow wanted to tell Ozpin his identity. Qrow wanted to tell Ozpin know he already knew his dirty little secrets. Qrow wanted to tell Ozpin he should be another...but if Ozpin knew it were Qrow, he would be rejected without doubt.

_Damned if I do, damned if I don’t; either way, not fucked in the way I want._

"It wouldn't be a bad habit; it would be a secret we could keep and enjoy together..." 

Ozpin was really going to stand there and tell Qrow no _now,_ with Ozpin half-dressed, his body so _ready –_

_Fucking hell. Are you really gonna deny me, Oz? With a hard-on like that?_

Qrow thrust gently against him and Ozpin moaned so softly, his hands clenching around Qrow’s arms, eyes closing with an expression of bliss that almost made Qrow finish in that instant.

_Fucking fuck he fucking wants me whether he knows it’s me or not –_

“Volodymyr…p-please…”

Qrow cursed and rolled his head back, releasing Ozpin abruptly. 

"Fine. But I am going to need some ice," he snapped. Half sighing, half growling, the pirate jerked Ozpin's clothing into proper placement.

Not that it stopped Qrow from wanting to shove him against the balcony again and drag a few more of those sweet moans from his lips.

"Stay here," Qrow ordered. "I'm not done with you yet." So saying, he turned on his heel, leaving Ozpin on the balcony while he dealt with his own problems.

In his four years at Beacon Academy, Qrow knew the kitchen well. His trip lasted a mere five minutes, four and a half of which were spent standing in front of the open cooler, a minute of which he downed a third of a bottle of whiskey, and ten seconds of which he shoved ice down his pants. 

His adrenaline had been raging, the moment so right, he thought for certain...

 _Fuck._

He cursed, or in this case, wished.

Slamming the cooler closed, he shook the tension from his shoulders, willing the alcohol to coarse through him faster. With any luck, he would be too drunk to get aroused in the next fifteen minutes.

Qrow thought about Ozpin in the open gold shirt, the soft moan that he made, the taste of his skin.

_Better take the fucking bottle._

***

Ozpin let out a breath of relief at Volodymyr's exit, not trusting himself not to give in despite finally being released. He took several minutes to button his shirt and vest, smooth his costume, and regulate his breathing. He leaned over the railing to force himself to regard the innocence of the scenery and to possibly obscure any hint of impropriety the pirate had caused in him.

An uncomfortable amount of impropriety.

_A cold shower would do._

He took his scroll from his pocket and found several messages from Ferra Agrios.

"Lovely dance. Borderline age inappropriate."

He cleared his throat and skipped to the next.

"Professor Peach made some colorful commentary regarding your flexibility. I admit I gave her your secret identity as revenge for that one time in Vacuo. I've never seen a woman turn so red."

He chuckled at that, wondering if Professor Peach would avoid eye contact at the next faculty meeting.

Ozpin glanced up at the sound of footsteps, seeing his pirate companion return, a bottle in hand.

"Taking it that badly, are you?" he asked, unable to keep the teasing tone from his voice. 

"Well it's either this or I keep up my affections and talk you into bed. Your choice." The pirate king gestured with open arms, pausing to take a long drink.

Ozpin felt his face alight.

_He could convince me. He absolutely could._

Volodymyr sighed, eyes turning to the view as the pirate joined the headmaster along the railing.

"If you want another dance, you'll have to give me a few minutes,” the pirate said, taking another pull from the bottle. “We can make it a waltz. For old time's sake.”

“I…feel like I’ve ruined your evening,” Ozpin said. "I apologize. It was never my intention to lead you on, or to..." 

_To what? Kiss him? Let him undress me? Want him very badly in return?_

Ozpin sighed. "I do appreciate your company. I would say you're one of the most interesting men I've met in a very long time."

He looked back over the balcony, glad for his anonymity to at least diminish his embarrassment. 

"A _very_ long time," he said again.

***

The compliment both pleased and stung. Had Ozpin really been more intrigued by this stupid outfit than all the excitement Qrow had brought him over the years?

_Tch._

Qrow's mood was getting worse and he had to shake it. He wasn't going to get a chance like this with Ozpin again. 

_Can't fuck it up now._

Besides, he was well accustomed to hiding his true feelings by now, and when better to role play than at a role-playing event?

"Well, that's good. Someone needs to liven things up every once in a while."

The pirate took three long drinks, then set the bottle on the ground, knowing exactly how much it took to do the trick. The rest, he decided, he would save for later.

Ozpin gave a brief, quiet laugh. "You sound like one of my – " 

He broke off the sentence abruptly, probably realizing how close he had come to revealing himself as a teacher. He cleared his throat.

"You sound like someone I know," he said instead. "You both seem to think I require 'livening up.'"

_Huh. He’s talking about me._

"Then maybe you do, if you're attracted to someone as lively as me. It's a shame your acquaintance isn't that interesting." 

The second remark surprised even Qrow. He hadn't meant to release his bitter thoughts...but then again, he hadn't planned on needing to shove ice down his pants. 

The whiskey hit now, a warm fuzzy feeling spreading through him, cushioning the blow of being rejected yet again tonight.

"It isn't that at all," Ozpin replied, shaking his head. "He's...young. I'm a mentor to him, perhaps a friend on a good day. But given my age, I have no doubt he has never thought of me in that light."

_He sounds…disappointed._

"What if he did see you in that light?" Qrow asked.

Despite Ozpin's complaints, Qrow read between the lines loud and clear: Ozpin _did_ see Qrow in that light. Even if he didn't want to. Even if he didn't admit it. 

“Do _you_ see him in that light?”

"Do _I - ?"_

Ozpin went pink under his mask, looking away, watching the colors of the dancers' movements inside the ballroom. 

"It's...not that simple," he said, the blush darkening.

Smile growing to a grin, the pirate king pressed on. "Not simple because you don't want to admit the truth. The truth is simple – whether you feel on it or not. Whether you act on it is the complicated part. So, do you see him in that light?"

Ozpin made an impatient noise. “It’s merely…”

“Merely what?”

“A crush.”

_Oh, shit._

For a moment neither man spoke, Ozpin’s face red, his eyes turned away.

_He said it._

Qrow felt his stomach flip and his heart burst.

_He fucking admitted it._

“A crush, huh,” Qrow said, forcing a casual tone. “Just a crush?”

“I…yes, I’m sure that’s all this is.”

_An attractive man offered you a night of anonymous fucking and you’re still thinking about me, Oz. You sure this is just a crush?_

“You’re blushing a lot for just a crush.”

"Didn't you want to dance before you became too intoxicated?" Ozpin said, exasperated. 

"It's not the intoxication I was worried about," Qrow replied, offering the liquor bottle to nervous professor. "But perhaps it's something you should consider?"

Ozpin took the bottle without hesitation, giving Qrow a glare. He tipped the contents back, coughing lightly at the strength of it.

"I...I'd rather not think about it," he muttered at length. 

Qrow let the matter drop for now; he knew Ozpin would relax with alcohol in his system. His mind and tongue would relax and he would be much more willing to discuss uncomfortable matters.

_And thinking about me is making him uncomfortable._

"Come on, you'll have to take at least five more gulps to match me..." Qrow said, tilting the bottle to Ozpin's lips. "Catch up, then we can dance."

 _And then,_ Qrow thought determinedly, _we can chat again._

***

The headmaster managed two generous swallows of whiskey before he had to stop for breath, coughing at the burn in his throat.

"Such motivation," Ozpin said, sarcastically. "Give me a moment."

Determined to both catch up with his intoxicated date and erase the doubts in his mind, Ozpin tipped the bottle back up, feeling the warmth that began to build. 

“That's it, take it all..." the pirate ordered, voice dropping suggestively.

Ozpin almost spat whiskey, shooting a glare at his companion. 

"Very mature," he said, coloring despite his efforts to avoid it.

A grin was the only response as Ozpin's companion waited for him. Once task was completed, Volodymyr took the bottle replacing it on the ground, and offered his arm to the headmaster. "Ready for a waltz?"

"Fine," Ozpin said, taking the pirate's arm. In only a few minutes, Ozpin already felt the warmth spreading through him, the former tension of the atmosphere dissipating with the alcohol and the promise of another dance. 

The ballroom was warm, the lights and music inviting where before they were imposing. A swing dance played as they entered; the professor glanced toward the punch bowl to see his faithful deputy headmistress standing guard.

"Would you excuse me for just a moment? I should probably check in with my date..."

The pirate let him go with a shrug, as though sure that Ozpin would return without prompting.

***

Ferra Agrios supervised the dance from Ozpin’s usual punch-side post, eyes flickering to the balcony doors where the headmaster and Qrow Branwen had disappeared.

So far, Branwen’s plan seemed to work, Ozpin only too happy to reclaim his former dance partner. As for the rest…she had less confidence. Certainly, she knew Ozpin well enough to recognize he carried romantic feelings for Qrow, but she was positive that would only make things difficult. Ozpin was not flighty with his affections; he would resist another’s advances if he was too preoccupied with Qrow Branwen.

Then again…

She spied his gold form enter, arm in arm with the pirate.

_Perhaps he’s that desperate to avoid thinking about Branwen._

He parted ways with Branwen briefly, approaching her with a nod.

"Ferra," he said, by way of greeting.

He looked altered, and for a moment, Ferra didn’t know exactly why.

Then her eyes fell upon the bare skin of his throat, white skin littered with faint red marks.

_Well, well, Branwen. I underestimated your abilities._

Ozpin, it seemed, was destined to fall victim to Qrow’s charms no matter the mask.

"Having a good time, are we, sir?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Doing my best," he said. 

"So I noticed. Everyone who saw your performance noticed."

Ozpin cleared his throat. "Ah. Well. Not many people know how to dance a Mistral tango..."

"Mmmhmm," she said doubtfully. "And your cravat?"

Ozpin reached toward his neck automatically, realizing at that instant its absence. He flushed pink, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I...took it off outside to cool off..."

"Mmmhmm," Ferra said again. "Not going to introduce me to your pirate friend?"

"I would - really, I would, Ferra, but I promised him a waltz and one only just started."

"Have fun, sir," she offered, smiling as Ozpin offered her a dubious look, his hasty exit less than subtle. 

She watched Ozpin take Branwen’s hands again, falling into place as the music swelled. 

_They really do move well together,_ she mused, as the couple swept through the crowd. 

It wasn’t merely dancing, or sparring, or chess; it was all of it, an intimacy that went beyond simple attraction. She didn’t believe in the concept of soulmates, and yet they seemed determined to make her question that, if only this once, only for them.

She hated herself, at least a little, for allowing all her ethics as a teacher to be so casually tossed aside; and yet, as she watched Branwen dip Ozpin, the headmaster’s lips in a perfect smile – 

She would do a great deal to see Ozpin happy.

***

"How are you feeling, Frederick?"

The truth was that Ozpin felt wonderful; the warmth from the ballroom and the dance and the whiskey was so very calming. 

"Much better," he said with a genuine smile.

"Wonderful. Another dance, or some fresh air?" He leaned in close to whisper into Ozpin's ear. "I promise not to undress you this time."

Ozpin was sure he had blushed tonight more than he had in years combined.

"If you would be so kind," he said, not hiding the sarcasm now, the whiskey preventing him from fully censoring himself. Nevertheless, he allowed the pirate to lead him back toward the balcony, feeling as though this was all a very pleasant, very good idea.

Volodymyr released his arm – very gentlemanly, Ozpin thought tipsily – and leaned against the railing, regarding the professor.

"Do you wish our tango were with your friend?" he asked abruptly.

The professor shot his companion a sharp glance.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The young man we were discussing earlier. Do you wish you had a passionate dance with him as well?"

_Of course._

"He…doesn't enjoy these kinds of events."

Volodymyr laughed. "You have," he remarked with certainty.

“I…it’s only natural, isn’t it? If I – if I have a bit of a crush?”

 _Keep saying it out loud, you fool,_ Ozpin thought miserably. 

But it was so exhausting to ignore it, to deny it, and what was a confession to one stranger?

“Have you told him?”

“No, of course not.” The words tumbled out of him now, the freedom of speech lifting the weight on his shoulders. “He…that is to say, I suspect he feels the same, but it’s…complicated.”

“Complicated how, if he feels the same?”

“Society,” Ozpin declared, with the confidence of whiskey, “is more antagonistic to freedom than one would think.”

“So keep it secret.”

“I…well, it would have to be, wouldn’t it? But…”

“But it’s not more than just a crush?”

Ozpin was growing tired of the heat on his face, of the relentless questions from the pirate.

"It may be," he announced noncommittally. "What does it matter? He doesn't like these kinds of events."

Volodymyr grinned. “All right, I’ll grant you mercy. But it’s a shame he can't enjoy you as I do," he said, securing his hand around the headmaster's waist once more.

A sharp pull, and Ozpin found himself very, very close to Volodymyr’s face again.

_Oh. Well, if he insists…_

The headmaster had no complaints toward the pirate's sudden proximity, the heat of his body and the whiskey loosening previously tense muscles. 

"You don't mind it?" he asked. "I imagine it would be awkward…”

“What is?” Volodymyr asked, the question hot on Ozpin’s lips.

“You’re a distraction,” Ozpin said, the truth spilling out easily, warmly.

“You think about him that much?”

“All the time,” Ozpin murmured, wishing the pirate would stop talking and kiss him instead. “It’s almost too much. He’s always there, in my thoughts…”

“What kind of thoughts?” Volodymyr whispered into his ear, the headmaster shivering against the sensation.

“… _such_ thoughts…” Ozpin whispered.

A grin spread across the pirate’s lips. "I don't mind it. He was here first, and according to you, isn't here now. So no issue. You are free to pursue him come night's end.”

"That's...not what I meant," Ozpin said, avoiding the masked eyes that seemed so very amused by his discomfort. "I'm quite accustomed to being alone, thank you."

"That doesn't mean you won't be happier with company.”

"Oh, shut up and kiss me."

Without hesitation, the pirate king complied, mouth hard against Ozpin’s, pushing him backward until his back hit the railing.

_Finally, a reason to stop thinking about Qrow Branwen._

Ozpin wished he could feel the pirate's fingers in his own hair, rather than the blond wig he hid beneath, but it was a small concession for the press of Volodymyr's lips and talented tongue. With the amount of whiskey in Ozpin's blood, everything felt slower, felt more intense; he reached up to the pirate's coat lapels to pull him closer, despite already being chest to chest.

***

Qrow groaned into the kiss when Ozpin pressed against him.

This was heaven and hell at the same time; as the passion grew, so did the agony, yet Qrow couldn't stop himself. 

Touching Ozpin was better than he could have imagined.

Knowing how badly Ozpin wanted him in return – 

Body tingling with life – or perhaps losing blood to alcohol and arousal, the king's head swam. 

_Air. Need air – another minute – fuck..._

The kiss broke gracelessly, Qrow gasping as though he had forgotten how to breathe. 

Despite necessities, Qrow burrowed his head into the nook of his partner's neck, his body aching for Ozpin’s body.

_More. Please, more._

"Oz..." he begged. 

_Please._

***

The headmaster froze, almost certain Volodymyr's breathless syllable was his own name. But of course that was impossible, he told himself, as the pirate nuzzled his neck enticingly, his breath hot, heavy with whiskey. Ozpin was merely too caught up in the moment, his thoughts a frazzled mess, mistaking a groan for something he _wanted_ to hear, the nickname bringing Qrow Branwen back to mind with startling force.

Ozpin knew he should regret the alcohol, for it was not hindering either man in the slightest, simply replacing the last of the headmaster's sense. 

This was the time to object, Ozpin knew, to pull back just enough so that he wasn't again tempted to throw caution to the wind, but then the pirate offered his throat an aggressive series of nips and kisses that made Ozpin nearly loose his mind.

_Would Qrow whisper Ozpin’s name so sweetly?_

_Would his teeth leave such wonderful imprints on his throat?_

If only.

If only _he_ were – 

It was too easy to imagine it, Qrow’s hands on his hips, Qrow’s lips on his skin, Qrow, Qrow – 

_"Ah,_ Qrow – "

He realized what he had said immediately, horrified by his own tongue and the tipsy, confused mind that made him say it. 

Yet somehow, the utterance didn't seem to inhibit the pirate king in the slightest – in fact, it seemed to do quite the opposite, the man eagerly crushing Ozpin against him, molding them both until they became one once more.

The pirate snaked a hand underneath the back of the diplomat's lavish coat, the sharp sting of the nails down his back made Ozpin arch against him, the breathless noise he made some blend of pain and pleasure and something wholly between. Again and again Ozpin told himself he had to pause this frantic affair, and again and again the baser part of his brain told him to continue, that Volodymyr was just so _very_ good and that it had been _so_ long –

Ultimately, however, as he restrained the desire to grind his hips against the pirate, it was the name of Qrow Branwen that made him slow. 

He had no right to Qrow, not as his teacher or friend or whatever Qrow was to him, and yet there was some illogical attachment to him that Ozpin could not shake, not even for the terribly wonderful hands of his masked companion.

This affair felt like…

Betrayal.

"Wait," he whispered again. "Please. I...don't think the whiskey is helping..."

"Drink more." The response was short, a dare for Ozpin to break the connection himself. Volodymyr was not going to make this easy for him, it seemed, even though Ozpin had confessed to another attachment.

 _"Fuck,"_ the pirate growled, then reluctantly released his prisoner. He swiped up the whiskey, chugging a large portion before he offered the bottle to Ozpin. 

"You're a terrible tease, you know that?" he said, resuming his post next to Ozpin leaning against the balcony. The pirate readjusted his pants, his arousal painfully obvious.

The accusation made the professor flush; never in his life had he been called such. He accepted the bottle and drank, his mind a bee's hive of conflict. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just...have some things to think about..."

He wanted so very desperately to forget the sudden, awful realizations he had made regarding one of his _students,_ to let Volodymyr have his way with him and force his mind to stop thinking about Qrow Branwen, but Ozpin knew it was only a flimsy distraction, one that would serve to make him feel worse once it was over. He would simply feel guilt, as though betraying both himself and Qrow, a perfectly absurd reaction when Qrow might not return the feelings to the same extent Ozpin held.

_The same extent…_

What extent?

A crush?

 _No._

Ozpin had confessed it was more than that aloud.

_Then it was –_

Certainly, there had been hints from Qrow – no, worse than hints: the long stares that Ozpin would swear lingered on impolite body parts; the occasional drop of Qrow's voice when he was closer to him; the confusing phrases that Ozpin could never quite tell were suggestive innuendos. He thought perhaps he was oblivious to Qrow's flirting, or else – worse yet – that Ozpin invented the evocative implications himself, his mind's desperate attempt to force him to face his own emotions. 

But a _student –_

Ozpin let out a long, frustrated breath, taking another pull from the bottle. 

"Your friend," Volodymyr concluded. "He's either really lucky being the special one for you...or totally screwed if you tease him like you tease me.”

Ozpin shook his head, drinking again, all the heat of the previous moments surging up to his face. He couldn't admit such a damning thing aloud, even if to an equally intoxicated stranger who didn't know. 

"Friend," he repeated, the bitterness impossible to restrain. The masquerade, meant to be a night of innocent enjoyment, had transformed into a tug of war of conflicting tensions. "I don't know that he is – a friend or lucky for it. Being my friend tends to come with...complications." 

Another shake of his head, another pull from the bottle. 

"In my position, it's simpler to avoid having friends."

“Something tells me he is not the type to give a damn whether it is complicated. In fact, by the sounds of it, he feels the same about you and things won't be too complicated soon."

"You're more of an optimist than I am then," the headmaster said, with half a smile, "but thank you for the attempt at comfort. Especially considering how poorly I have treated you tonight."

Volodymyr shook his head, still smiling. "No thanks needed. A dashing man like myself doesn't have a difficult time finding a partner...I am glad you have found yours."

The pirate made it sound so final, as though Ozpin did not have a choice but to belong to Qrow. He shifted against the balcony railing, uncomfortable with the implication, looking back toward the ballroom. 

"Is this where we part, then? On good terms, all this emotional baggage neatly wrapped up?" Ozpin's voice was fully bitter now, frustrated by his inability to shake the sentimentality that prevented him from his otherwise perfect dance partner and an evening of perfectly anonymous passion he had never allowed himself to have. The uncertainty of Qrow's affections, of his impending graduation, of his leaving Beacon at last – none of this seemed as simple as the pirate implied. But Volodymyr was a stranger who couldn't be expected to understand the intricacies of Ozpin's position. 

And his presence was another complication, both welcome and unwelcome, wanted and unwanted. 

Ozpin took another sip of whiskey, wondering if Ferra would find him passed out on the balcony by the end of the night. With luck, he wouldn't remember any of the damning realizations of the evening. 

The pirate shrugged, scarcely trying to hide his amusement at Ozpin's answer. "If you'd like. I didn't mean to upset you. It just seemed your heart was elsewhere...we could return to lighter topics like my worldly travels. Unless, of course, you prefer to be alone now."

"I don't know what I prefer anymore," the professor muttered. "I apologize, it's not my intention to take my frustrations out on you. This wasn't exactly how I foresaw the evening going."

"What did you foresee?"

Ozpin certainly did not expect such a forward question; he felt the ever-present blush return to his cheeks. 

"Never mind," he said. 

The pirate laughed. "It would seem I am only serving to make you more troubled. How very terrible for a pirate to mistreat his treasure...I will listen to your cue then and bid you good night. I hope your plights are resolved in two years. If not, you'll know where to find me.”

Volodymyr pushed himself off the railing, offering the professor a low bow.

The headmaster watched the pirate walk away with the same confusion that his closeness brought. Ozpin realized he was still holding the whiskey bottle and wondered if he should care. He gave another long sigh, and then reentered the ballroom.

The lights and colors felt so foreign now – only a few hours before, he had been more than willing to indulge himself with a more than provocative dance. Now he only wanted to go to bed. He found Ferra still at the punch bowl – it seemed so strange that she might not have moved at all as Ozpin's world had crumbled just outside. 

"Sir...?" Her eyes roved over his disheveled costume, working their way upward, pausing just below his face.

Only then did Ozpin recall the aggressive attentions Volodymyr had bestowed on his neck and the cravat that was still missing. Thankfully Ferra did not comment, her expression more concerned than amused.

"Sir, are you drunk?"

"Yes," he said, handing her the bottle. "And I'm going to bed, thank you."

Without waiting for a response, Ozpin left, unable to stand the cheerful music for another minute, trying not to think about anything at all as he stumbled his way back to the main hall, where the elevator promised a few hours where he would not think about missed opportunities and one audaciously attractive student –

He tore off mask and wig as the elevator pinged on the top floor, reaching for his glasses in his pocket, but he paused at the first step into his office.

He was not alone.

In the headmaster's chair, Qrow Branwen sat slumped over, hair askew, eyes closed, a brown leather-wrapped flask on the desktop. 

"Oh, hell," Ozpin whispered to himself. 

Another moment passed as he considered his options. He could hide – all cowardice – by escaping into his bedroom, if Qrow did not wake from the sound of the touchpad, or Ozpin could rouse him and send him back to his dorm, or perhaps they could –

The strength of the vision was startling and made the professor suddenly very warm, cursing the drunk impropriety of his mind. Ozpin crept closer, still undecided on his action, watching the calm rise and fall of the sleeping student’s breathing. The flask – the very same one Ozpin had gifted to him on his eighteenth birthday – was open and empty. 

So Ozpin had not been the only one who did not enjoy the evening. 

He wondered if Qrow had attended the masquerade at all, or if he had another poor experience to give him reason to hide in the safe solitude headmaster's office.

Ozpin ran a soft hand through Qrow's hair without thinking, thick locks smooth between his fingers. What in the world was he thinking? He had once fired a professor for becoming involved with a student, and now he found himself an absolute hypocrite. 

_This is different. This is different._

The chant was so true and so false at the same time; Ozpin had never felt so utterly confused in his life, withdrawing his hand from the young man's hair to lay on his shoulder, a gentle shake to wake him.

Qrow murmured nonsense, an incoherent response to unwilling consciousness. 

Despite the travesty of the evening, Ozpin smiled at the young man's half-conscious words. He gently increased the pressure of his fingers on Qrow's shoulders. 

"Qrow," he said, not quite a whisper. "You might prefer a more comfortable bed."

Another groan had the student rolling his head to the side, red eyes glanced up sleepily. "Does the floor count?"

"Hardly," the headmaster said. "I can't allow my huntsmen to fall in battle because they woke up with a bad back."

"I sleep on the ground when you send me on missions," Qrow protested.

"This is not a mission - this is you avoiding socializing," the professor said, his voice already falling into a lecture tone. 

_Pot, kettle._

He could hear Ferra's voice in his head. 

_Always a hypocrite._

"You wouldn't prefer your own bed over the cold floor?"

"No, Taiyang is going to come back tripping over himself trying to hit on Raven and Summer will be recapping the night with theatrics. I just want sleep." 

"Ah, youth," Ozpin said lightly. 

If Qrow had ever attempted a pitiful look in his life, the moment was now begging _please don't kick me out._

Ozpin shifted under the pleading expression on the young man's face, not wishing to be cruel by asking him to leave but so uncertain what it would mean if he remained. 

"I don't exactly keep a guest bed," he said. "I only have my own and an armchair..."

What _was_ he thinking? It was practically an invitation, at least to his intoxicated, confused mind. His only solace was that the pirate king had been wrong, that Qrow was not fond of Ozpin in the manner he suggested, that the student merely wished for a quiet night away from his overbearing team. 

Without word, the student rose, gesturing for the headmaster to lead the way.

_Oh this is a mistake –_

Ozpin tried to ignore the crushing doubts that followed him as he entered the code onto the touchpad. Of course Qrow had been inside his bedroom before, once or twice for a few minutes, but to sleep in the same bed – 

_You’ve slept in the same bed before._

_Before…before I realized –_

He hesitated at the threshold, wondering if there was something he should say, something poignant, but the words didn't come.

"Do try not to touch anything," he said instead. "I'm a bit...particular. The bathroom is through the back door. Extra blankets are in the bottom drawer of the armoire..."

He let his voice trail off, thinking again and again that this was an enormous mistake. 

Qrow nodded a response, then a rush of wind had him transformed into his crow form. A hop – ending in a drunken dive to the floor – had the bird making his way to the bed. Perching on the spare pillow next to Ozpin's, Qrow burrowed his beak under his wing.

Ozpin could not help the sigh of relief watching Qrow transform, forming a neat little black ball on the pillow. 

Safer to share a bed with a bird than another man. 

The headmaster retrieved a pair of lounge pants from the dresser; he usually preferred to sleep in boxers but tonight even his drunk mind was not so foolish. He changed in the bathroom, out of modesty and to keep his mind off the fact that he was allowing a student to stay in his room. The closest he had come to that before was the drunken night at the Vytal Festival the year before. How innocent it seemed, only a year prior. 

Qrow had not moved when Ozpin returned, tossing the gold costume on the armchair, disillusioned with the thought of Frederick Zlatan now. It was painfully obvious even to himself how long he hesitated at the bedside, finally acknowledging that he needed to sleep, if only to put this evening out of its misery. He slipped under the sheets - another glance at the unconscious crow to his side - and sighed when he turned out the lights. In the darkness he could no longer see Qrow, and so willed himself to pretend himself alone until at last his overwrought mind began to slow.

***

Qrow dozed next to Ozpin for some time, waking in the middle of the night only to transform into his natural state and resume his spot at the headmaster's side. Gently, Qrow draped his arm across Ozpin's chest, moving slowly to ensure the man did not wake, resting his head in the crook of the headmaster’s neck, listening to the calm pulse, feeling the softness of his skin.

_Bliss._

Securely huddled next to the man loved, Qrow fell into a deep, satisfied sleep.


	13. In which Ozpin comes to terms - badly - about finding Qrow in his bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I fell slowly, softly, all in  
> It begins with my limbs and it starts moving in  
> I am powerless now as you're inside my skin  
> I blush as you swim to the surface again  
> In the same way one glides their hand over a bruise  
> Gently pressing the beautiful black and the blue  
> I'm repeating I love you, I love you, I do  
> And I'm calling it all intimacy with you
> 
> I'm in bed early every night this week  
> There's a separate life I live when I sleep  
> Where I'm calm and collected and modest  
> Just like the way that I was before you and I  
> In this secretive life I am swept off my feet  
> Where you always pursue and I always retreat  
> I am overwhelmed as I slowly fall in love."
> 
> ~ "Blush", Violents

Summer Rose settled into bed with a long sigh, uncertain if she meant it to be a gesture of satisfaction or sadness, and decided it was possible to be both at once, flopping on her pillow with enough force to flip her hair in her face.

She had looked forward to the masquerade this year with a strain of cautious optimism, knowing that the innocence of her first couldn’t be recaptured this time. Two years ago, she was costume designer with a team that didn’t know the first thing about fashion or history, gleefully playing dress-up with her friends, clapping when they revealed themselves as not themselves. Getting Qrow – and to a lesser extent, Raven – into fancy costumes had been a feat of no small amount of genius, of begging and pleading and then at last, threatening. But they had all attended, Summer and Qrow laughing at how desperately Taiyang tried to convince Raven to dance with him, and how he had stepped on her five times once he did; the shockingly delightful realization that Qrow could dance so well that the teachers were impressed (not to mention her surprise to discover Professor Ozpin as his partner); the bright nostalgia of an evening where nothing really had gone wrong, and everyone spent time together as friends.

This year couldn’t have been more different.

Summer didn’t have to convince her team to find costumes; they acted without her, Taiyang and Raven picking matching outfits, while Qrow disappeared altogether, without a word as to whether he even intended on going.

She tagged along with Tai and Raven as a painful third wheel, plastering a smile on her face whenever they remembered she was there, her heart skipping a beat when Raven, bored with dancing, offered her boyfriend to Summer as a way to avoid another waltz and another foot on her toes. Summer did her best not to dwell on Tai’s hand in hers, on her waist.

A friendly touch, and nothing more.

Still, Tai enjoyed dancing and didn’t mind her as a partner as Raven sulked off, and so Summer could pretend, for an hour or two, that she was Tai’s date instead.

For an hour or two, her smiles became genuine.

There was also the matter of Qrow appearing, in all the pomp and feathers of his previous costume – the pirate with the long name – leading a man in stark gold across the dance floor, a style of dance she had never seen before.

And judging by the manner in which Qrow’s hands wandered over his partner, a style she was certain wasn’t allowed at a school dance.

She didn’t recognize his partner at first. 

Not exactly.

But the man’s height, figure, the way he moved with Qrow as a single entity, like trained professionals, like a man Summer knew Qrow coveted more than anyone else – 

She wondered if Professor Ozpin knew he was dancing with his favorite student.

“Wow,” Tai had said, a note of wonder in his voice. “They’re really good.”

Summer quietly agreed, the couple stopping to watch, other students around them following suit.

“Must be a couple,” he added, coughing lightly as Qrow dipped Professor Ozpin, his hand _very_ low on the professor’s back.

“Do you think so?” Summer asked.

“Come on. No one dances that well unless they’re…you know.”

Summer watched, conflicted. 

For not the first time that night, she wondered if Qrow knew what he was getting into.

The tango ended and Qrow and Ozpin disappeared, and the dance resumed a quieter pace, students slinking back to the floor now that they didn’t have to compete for attention. And for a while, Summer could pretend again that she was the girl Tai had asked out tonight, even if she knew she would break her own heart doing so.

And she did, when Raven eventually returned and stole Taiyang away again. Summer wandered to the punch bowl, loitering and accepting a few more dances from masked classmates, but too many times her eyes drifted to where Raven and Tai were clasped together, and soon enough she found it too painful to bear.

Their dorm was empty when she returned; she thought briefly about where Qrow might be, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. If he was successful where Summer was not, she was happy for him – after all, Qrow deserved something good, and she had no doubt that Professor Ozpin was dreadfully lonely despite his easy smiles. She recalled their sparring match, how Qrow had pinned the headmaster and how they looked at each other like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

They both deserved that, two very lonely men who found a world in each other.

Still. It didn’t feel good to be the only one alone.

Tai and Raven stampeded in just after midnight, giggling together as they did, Summer hiding under the pillow at the glare of the light.

“Oh, sorry, Summer.” Tai paused. “Qrow’s not here?”

“Not yet.”

“Huh. Wonder what the hell he got into tonight.”

“Maybe he went to the dance,” Summer said.

“Pfft. I thought he hated dances. He’s probably off stealing booze again.”

“I don’t know,” Raven said. “He was humming a lot this week. Like he was in a good mood.”

“That’s not unusual.”

“Humming _waltzes._ It creeped me out.”

“You think he’s got a girl and doesn’t want to tell us?”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Summer mumbled.

“Yeah,” Tai said confidently. “He’d never hook up with someone without bragging about it for a week.” 

“I’d prefer if he kept them all secrets,” Raven said. “Some things you just don’t need to know.”

Summer almost laughed at that. Raven, who wanted to know everything whether it was her business or not.

Instead, she shook off the uncharacteristic bitterness, sitting up. “If he was with someone and didn’t tell us, maybe that means it’s serious.”

Tai made a face. “I dunno if Qrow could ever be serious about anyone. They’d have to be…pretty damn special.”

“He has been rather…happy lately,” Raven said, as though the idea annoyed her. 

“Guess we’ll see in the morning,” Tai said, grinning. “We’ll give him the third degree and make him tell us everything.”

Raven snorted a brief laugh and they began to prepare for bed. 

Summer sighed into her pillow. She hoped that Qrow would return, a victorious grin on his face, impervious to the interrogation from Tai. 

_Just this once,_ she thought, somewhere between a thought and a prayer, _let Qrow be lucky._

Because, she thought, as Tai and Raven climbed into a single bunk, whispering to each other, at least one of them should be.

***

Morning found the headmaster with a splitting headache and a heavy weight on his chest. Blurred memories of the disastrous night before swam around his mind, the remnants of the whiskey keeping them at bay for now with each beat of his pulse.

Pieces of the night fit together with effort: the smirk of Volodymyr’s lips at Ozpin’s surprise at the punch bowl; the Mistral Tango and the feel of confident hands on Ozpin’s body; the cool air in the shadows of the balcony, Volodymyr’s lips, his tongue, his body pressed heavily against Ozpin, leaving enough to the imagination as to torment him greatly –

And yet.

He let out a labored breath, eyes still closed against the morning light he knew would hurt. 

_It was the right decision, wasn’t it?_

But no confirmation came from within, the ghosts of his past asleep, or in agreement, or otherwise just…silent.

_It was._

Of course it was a simple decision now, sober, his blood cool, his body not under the spell of suggestive touches. 

He was right to turn Volodymyr down. He didn’t know who the pirate was under the mask and the feathers, and he had been only too eager to throw himself into arms that could have brought him harm.

_I nearly died a few months ago at a stranger’s hands, and yet I –_

Perhaps so many years of being alone were taking their toll on him. 

_Human,_ Ozma said gently. _It is natural to want human things._

That hardly explained the attachment to Qrow Branwen, daily growing more intense.

_Human._

That was all well and good, Ozpin grumbled internally, but being human brought other issues forward. He required water, aspirin, and perhaps a day spent in bed in recovery for his reckless behavior. He reached blindly for his glasses on the nightstand, feeling the weight shift with him.

His eyes shot open with the realization he was not alone.

Qrow Branwen lay almost atop him, his cheek against Ozpin's shoulder, an arm over the professor's chest. Ozpin tested his pinned arm, horrified to find Qrow's fingers entwined in his own, heat rising to his face instantly. 

_This is bad._

_Don’t panic._

_But he – he –_

_He’s sleeping._

_Atop me. On me._

_Calm down._

A thousand methods of escape flooded his mind, fueled by the panic of thinking that perhaps he enjoyed the feel of Qrow's weight against him a little _too_ much – 

_Isn’t that really why you turned down Volodymyr’s propositions?_

_I…_

_Most people don’t panic the first time they fall in –_

_That’s enough._

Ozpin took a long breath, watching Qrow’s closed eyes, the soft breath that escaped relaxed parted lips. Qrow asleep was always a marvel, a sense of easy calm that was nothing like the storm he was while awake.

Ozpin’s lips twitched against his will, his free hand reaching out automatically, pausing when his brain caught up.

_Is this wrong?_

His fingers slid into Qrow’s hair gently, brushing back the bed-mussed bits. Lovely hair, thick and soft, running pleasantly against his palm. Qrow stirred – only for a moment – letting out a sleepy chirp, so birdlike that Ozpin’s heart skipped a beat, overcome with how unexpectedly happy this moment made him.

Ozpin sighed and withdrew his hand.

He gently removed Qrow's arm from his torso, so very careful not to wake the student as he slipped his legs toward the edge of the bed, wondering how in the world he could extract his arm from Qrow's secure grasp.

Qrow stirred with an unceremonious yawn, crimson eyes fluttering open to meet Ozpin's. "Good morning," he said stretching and taking Ozpin's arm with his as he did so.

The innocence in the movement only made Ozpin flush all the worse, a direct contrast of his own thoughts. He cleared his throat, using his free hand to peel Qrow's fingers from his, pretending that the contact did not bother him, that all this was perfectly normal, when in fact these newly discovered feelings had completely dismantled the carefully constructed private world Ozpin spent years building.

***

"Good morning," Ozpin said, his voice still a touch raw from last night’s whiskey.

Qrow watched Ozpin untangle his fingers from Qrow's and hid a small frown. Completing his stretch, he flopped onto his back on his side of the bed staring at the ceiling, but watching Ozpin from the corner of his eye.

"You were right. This was more comfortable than the floor. Thanks," he said in a light tone. He wondered just how long Ozpin would let him stay if he... no. Best not to press his luck. Qrow sighed and sat up looking back over at Ozpin. His eyes trailed the places he had kissed the night before making note that it was a good thing Ozpin wore a scarf considering the number of hickies Qrow had left.

He stifled a laugh, then swung his feet to the opposite side of the bed reluctantly tearing his view from Ozpin. Thank god it was the weekend.

***

"You're welcome," Ozpin said, the courtesy automatic. He felt the shift of the bed as Qrow sat up, utterly unable to look the student in the eyes, recalling with sober clarity calling out Qrow's name when –

He shut the thought down immediately. Where every part of him was tense, guarded, Qrow seemed perfectly at ease, wholly unconcerned with sharing a bed with his headmaster. Either he returned none of Ozpin's feelings, or he was the most shameless man Ozpin had ever met.  
"I hope you don't think me rude if I request my office back," he said, finally chancing a glance toward the student. "I should get back to work soon."

"Sure," he said glancing at the clock and yawning again. "But it's too damn early and the weekend. Can I stay and nap here, or should I roost in the gears? A man needs his beauty rest after all," he teased.

Ozpin stared; it was almost as though Qrow was purposely missing the point. And yet he could not think of a single excuse as to why he should kick Qrow out now. The headmaster's methods were already suspect, using a student in his care to run underground missions. In comparison, letting the young man sleep in his bed was almost innocent.

Almost.

"I...suppose it's fine if you stay here," he said slowly. "The office catches all the morning light."

Another hesitation. 

"I'm going to shower. Do try not to break anything in my absence."

So saying, Ozpin escaped into the bathroom, breathing easily only after the closed door gave him a place to hide. It wasn't until he glanced at his reflection that he noticed the livid spots that littered his throat, and he quietly considered death as a remedy.

***

A few hours later, Qrow finally exited Ozpin's room, having taken his time exploring the secret quarters as well as napping. The rich musk of Ozpin's bed was indeed intoxicating, but the man was more so; and so Qrow finally brought himself to exit.

***

Ozpin had been staring blankly at his monitors when Qrow emerged, having gotten exactly no amount of work done. He knew it was a fruitless exercise when he had first sat down - restored to his usual suit and scarf - and despite wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep, the presence of Qrow in the bedroom kept him away.

"Good afternoon," Ozpin said, the frantic panic of his morning thoughts having somewhat calmed down from sheer exhaustion, now only leaving a gentle knot in his stomach. "Properly rested?"

"Close enough," he replied taking the seat opposite the headmaster. "You look like you could use some more though," he said eyeing the man's coffee mug.

"I can grab us breakfast since you let me crash here?" he offered.

"So quick to assume I haven't had breakfast?" Ozpin said, with a hint of his usual humor. "Well. You're not wrong." 

He also wasn't wrong about needing more rest, but it didn't seem fair to mention that he considered it Qrow's fault. Better that Ozpin simply go about their relationship as he always had.

"Breakfast would be lovely, thank you," he said instead.

“One breakfast date, coming up,” Qrow said, with a wink that made Ozpin nearly drop his mug.

Ozpin made a fuss of righting it as Qrow stepped into the elevator, and sighed a very long sigh of relief when the doors closed.

_How am I ever supposed to look him in the eye again?_ Ozpin thought miserably.

_There are positions to avoid eye contact,_ offered a voice expectedly, and Ozpin sank into his chair, wishing to melt into the very floor.

***

Less than twenty minutes later, Qrow returned with a well-rounded, nutritional breakfast – fruit, eggs, ham, and toast.

Food was at least a distraction, a reason for Qrow to have something other than flirty comments or innuendos in his mouth, and for some time, their meal was simply that: quiet, comfortable, and without ulterior motives.

Halfway into their meal, Qrow asked about the masquerade.

Ozpin almost swallowed a strawberry whole at the unexpected – and perfectly innocent – question.

"It was fine," he said shortly. "Did you opt not to attend this year?"

"I went, but didn't stay very long," Qrow said with a shrug. "The best part of dancing is a partner like you; but I can do that anytime, so why bother with the spectators? I prefer keeping things behind closed doors."

Another instant flush of Ozpin’s face, threatening to dismantle his newly restored composure. Qrow was saying all the wrong things – or the right things, but unintentionally so. 

"Ah," the headmaster said, unwilling to commit to a further reaction. "Yes, I didn't see you there. That is, unless your costume wasn't as...creative as the last time." 

Qrow laughed. "Wouldn't it be funny if we saw each other and didn't even know it? I guess that's the point of a masquerade, huh?"

"Do you mind if I ask regarding your costume choice?"

Qrow waved his hand in the air as if he couldn't fully recall. "Some old ruler. You? Some guy who liked gold, obviously."

Ozpin immediately regretted asking, the return question only too predictable in hindsight.   
"Frederick Zlatan," he said after a hesitation, relying on Qrow's historical disinterest to keep him in the dark. "I didn't stay long."

"I noticed. Did someone attack you?" Qrow gestured to his own neck. "You had bruises. If someone hurt you, I can take care of it.”

"No, no," the professor said quickly, his face hot. "It was...a misunderstanding. The hazards of attempting complicated moves with an unfamiliar partner."

Ozpin couldn't decide if his phrasing was making it better or worse, but it was the first plausible explanation that came to mind.

"Ah. Too used to dancing with me then," the student joked, adding a knowing wink. "I hope you had fun with your partner, but maybe next time not so aggressive with a stranger. It’ll cut down on the injuries."

_Do you think Qrow would be as aggressive as Volodymyr?_

_Will you be quiet, Ozma!_

Qrow poked at some of his food, undeterred by Ozpin’s silence. "I'll try the moves with you if you want. We know each other's bodies, and we've practiced a lot, so it should be better than with a stranger."

Ozpin wanted little more than to sink into his chair at the awful phrasing of his student, the office so very warm so suddenly. 

"It's...not a dance I've taught you," he muttered, hearing the unintentional innuendo too late.

"Then teach me. Isn't that the point of you being my dance partner and instructor?"

_The Mistral Tango. With Qrow._

Ozpin took a long sip of coffee, and then another when his brain stalled at the question.   
"You...didn't see it at the masquerade then? It's...a bit unconventional."

"I wasn't in the crowd watching the professionals if that's what you're talking about. I heard there were two that really stole the whole night. Were you one of them?"

"I'm hardly a professional," Ozpin said, uncertain whether to be flattered or embarrassed. "But yes, I suppose I may have been one of them..."

"Your date must have been very experienced. Should I be jealous?" Qrow teased.

Ozpin cursed internally. 

"He...knew some less traditional dances that aren't as commonly practiced," Ozpin said. "It was merely a partnership of...convenience."

"Then I get to keep you," Qrow stated blatantly, spearing a strawberry. "You'll have to teach me the dance so I don't fall behind."

"You definitely didn't see the dance then," Ozpin murmured, his breakfast all but forgotten in the word games he found himself playing with an unintentional opponent. "Normally I wouldn't have performed the Mistral Tango, but it's so rare to find a partner who knows the choreography..."

"I bet I can learn in two weeks," Qrow challenged.

_He’s quite determined, Ozpin._

Yes, and it’s perfectly infuriating.

_Just let him learn. What could go wrong?_

_He’s charmingly determined._

_Remember when he hated the thought of dancing? He’s almost a gentleman now._

_Except for the thoughts he probably has about Ozpin._

_Ozpin is a gentleman and he has those thoughts about Qrow –_

"Please do me a favor then," the headmaster said, too loudly, blushing at the eager discussion of _his thoughts,_ "and look up a video of the dance before you so quickly agree to it. But if you are so eager to learn more, there are some less...suggestive dances."

"You know I like challenges. Besides, doing it with me in private should be easier than doing it with a stranger in front of a room full of people. Piece of cake."

Another shift of discomfort from the headmaster, another sip of coffee to prevent speaking too quickly. 

"Well...we can discuss it at your next lesson, if you insist." 

Ozpin gave in too quickly, he knew, and he told himself that it was simply to end the awkward conversation, yet part of him was curious if Qrow could out-dance the pirate king at the masquerade.

Qrow only offered a grin as a response, pleased to get his way once again.

_He always gets his way these days,_ Ozpin thought, half-miserable about it.

Without warning, a hand was on the headmaster's shoulder and Ozpin started, surprised to find Qrow beside him, using Ozpin to brace himself as he retrieved the empty dishes.

The weight of Qrow's touch sent a shiver down Ozpin's spine despite all his efforts to be unaffected. Qrow, in his ignorance of Ozpin's internal war, was somehow able to pick every single wrong thing to say and do, leaving the headmaster in a state of tongue-tied confusion as to what he once considered normal behavior around the student. 

"Thank you," he said, defaulting to simple courtesy when no other words would come to mind. 

"You're welcome. I'm going to head out and start my training. Mistral Tango?" he verified.

"Ah. Yes," Ozpin said reluctantly. "If you insist upon it."

"Got it. Two weeks," he said with a wink, gathering the plates in his arms and heading for the elevator. “I’ll be the best you’ve ever had.”

The doors closed on him as Ozpin’s blush erupted.

Alone once again, the professor found it even worse than Qrow's inadvertent teasing, the conflicting voices in his head louder than ever. It was obvious now – Ozpin finally unable to rely on his powerful sense of denial – that he did regard Qrow in some romantic manner, whether he wished to or not. He cursed the pirate king who brought it up, made him acknowledge what he had been so successful at crushing down where he could not fully see it. The realization came with no relief or happiness, only the strong complaints and objections of his professional morality.

He thought it might get better when Qrow graduated in a few months, when Ozpin would have the space necessary to overcome this silly little crush; but the idea of Qrow off in the world, living his own life, left Ozpin with a selfish sadness that only made him miserable in a different way.

He rose from his desk, focus impossible, wishing to fall back into bed for hopefully dreamless sleep (would he be able to smell Qrow on his pillow?), but he had not reached his bedroom before his scroll trilled from his pocket. 

"Yes?"

"Sir."

Another internal curse. Would this day never cease to torment him?

"Good morning, Ferra."

"It's afternoon, sir."

"So it is. How can I help you?"

"I just wanted to check in, sir. You didn't seem yourself last night."

"Ah. No. I confess I was not. Thus, it was best I retire."

"Are you alone?"

"Of course," Ozpin said, the tinge of bitterness creeping in. 

"So your guest left already?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I wasn't sure if your pirate king stayed the night or not, so I didn't want to come up..."

The headmaster went red, so very glad Qrow wasn't present to see it. He closed his bedroom door and ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

"He didn't."

"I see." Her tone was neutral, as though she didn't think this a perfect moment to exact vengeance against her boss for his years of eccentricities. "So you had your fun before you left."

_"Ferra."_

"Merely asking about your evening, sir. Professor Peach said that people don't dance like that without...chemistry."

Another flush; Ozpin ground his teeth at the idea of his faculty wondering about his personal affairs. 

"Don't be ridiculous. It was nothing but professional interest in another traditionalist."

"Mmhmm." She clearly didn't believe him, but she seemed willing to let the matter drop.

"Feel free to inform Professor Peach that should she wish to learn the steps, I would be more than happy to oblige."

"Oh, sir, could I? She would die and it would be so satisfying to watch."

Finally, Ozpin's mood shifted, if just a little. 

"Perhaps at the faculty meeting on Monday."

"Please, sir."

"You really haven't forgiven her for Vacuo."

"Never, sir."

Ozpin chuckled. "Then I'll indulge you on one condition."

"Name it, sir."

"Never ask me about last night again."

A quiet laugh on the other end. "Understood, sir. Try and get some rest today."

"Thank you, Ferra, I will."

Ozpin hung up, his spirits lifted ever so slightly, the lure of bed intoxicating. He stripped coat, shoes, and placed his glasses on the nightstand, collapsing gracelessly on the sheets. His pillows carried a faint scent of whiskey and leather and something else entirely Qrow. Allowing himself this one indulgence, Ozpin held one of the pillows against himself, comforted by the familiar smell in his ever-lonely bedroom.


	14. In which Ozpin and Qrow have a conversation about their feelings without words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hot thoughts melting my cool  
> Is it your motion, signal and cue?  
> Hot thoughts all in my mind and all of the time  
> You must be trouble for sure
> 
> Hot thoughts all in my mind and all of the time, yeah  
> I’ll tell it to your soul  
> I want you to know  
> Hot thoughts all in, all in my mind all of the time"
> 
> \- "Hot Thoughts", Spoon

Ozpin yawned over his morning coffee as he watched the elevator rise. Despite his best efforts, he had not slept more than a few hours since the masquerade, haunted by all the implications of his unwanted romantic realizations. He was certain, that with time and a carefully controlled will, he would eventually overcome and forget this attachment; he refused to call it a crush, which sounded juvenile, or anything that approached too closely to _love,_ which was so much worse.

He had debated the thing from all possible sides, as he did in chess or any other situation that called for tactical caution. He thought that perhaps this was all just an overreaction to Qrow's impending graduation, the loss of a true friend that Ozpin had allowed within a certain number of personal barriers when he rarely did so. This he dismissed because it did not explain the blushes, the gentle knots that formed in Ozpin's stomach when Qrow touched him.

The dreams.

Simple lust, then? It was not common for Ozpin to struggle with objective lust; he found it easy to brush it off if the situation was too complicated, too inappropriate. It was far too easy a thing to be content with his private life as it was, alone, than to weigh all the consequences of his name and his position simply for a night of satisfaction. In fact, Ozpin could not recall a time when he had genuinely struggled with such a feeling, save for the roguish pirate king at the masquerade. Even then, he was unable to give in because –

No, it was neither simple affection or desire. It was something much deeper, something much worse. 

This conclusion was less reassuring than Ozpin had wished. 

When he did manage to sleep, the headmaster found himself - for the first time in his life - plagued by dreams that made him wake red-faced, dreading the next time he would have to see Qrow in person. Ozpin felt almost like a hormonal teenager again, making him suddenly wish for the creaking joints and white beard of an old man. 

He didn't consider what Qrow might want. Ozpin knew he had once had a girlfriend, which indicated he was capable of romantic attractions, at least toward women, but Ozpin did not allow himself to dwell on the thought. Even after Qrow's graduation, becoming involved with him was unethical. No matter the strength of Ozpin's attraction (which he told himself was merely all-encompassing now because of the moral dilemma it proposed), the headmaster simply could not allow himself to consider it. 

And so he tried and failed to sleep, tried and failed to ignore the suggestive dreams, and drank more coffee to compensate. 

Ferra arrived to retrieve him for the morning faculty meeting as he was pouring another cup of coffee. She eyed the emptied pot.

"How many cups today?" she asked.

 _"Sapienta incipit cum cafeum,"_ he said, avoiding the question.

"Your future epitaph, sir?"

Ozpin chuckled. "That, or _morte magis metuenda senectus."_

Ferra rolled her eyes. "Do you have enough coffee to survive the meeting?" she asked, as always.

"Never," he said, as always. 

The faculty had already gathered, Ozpin and Ferra walking in on one of Professor Port's hunting stories, which - if Ozpin could follow it correctly - suggested Port had single-handedly taken down a pack of Beowolves while blindfolded. 

The faculty responded with amused chuckles, no one questioning the exaggeration in favor of a good storyteller, quieting when Ozpin walked toward the head of the table.

"Good morning," he said. He glanced toward the short woman on his left. "Good morning, Professor Peach."

The woman's face was instantly splotched with red, her greeting stammered back almost incoherently. 

On Ozpin's right, Ferra positively glowed with glee.

"Ferra mentioned that you may be interested in dance instruction," he continued in a purposefully oblivious tone. "I would be happy to offer my assistance."

Professor Peach sank into her chair. The other faculty snickered, evidently already aware of Professor Peach's inadvertent, inappropriate comments toward her headmaster. 

Given the look of absolute delight on Ferra's face, Ozpin thought she might kiss him for his remarks. 

Ferra took command of the meeting, as she usually did, as Ozpin allowed his mind to wander toward the afternoon appointment he had scheduled with Qrow Branwen. 

He couldn't bring himself to eat lunch, his appetite gone with the onset of exhaustion, the clock ticking ever closer to Qrow's appointment. He knew it was ridiculous to be so utterly preoccupied, and yet he could not focus on anything else, as though addicted to something he could not have. 

He stared through his translucent monitors without seeing the words, his fingertips tapping absently at his mug. Two nights of accusing himself of overthinking, now he wondered if he had simplified the possible cause. Perhaps this was merely a crush, a fleeting sort of affection that, when paired with the frustration left by his own denial of the pirate at the masquerade, had confused him with regarding Qrow in a deeper manner. 

Yes, Ozpin liked this explanation very much. 

_You know it isn’t._

Ozpin sighed, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses.

“Isn’t what?” he asked aloud.

_Just a crush. You know it isn’t._

Ozpin wanted very much to ask Ozma exactly how he knew so, but it was futile, Ozpin’s thoughts laid bare for him to see.

“Admitting that doesn’t help the situation in the slightest,” Ozpin muttered. “But you seem unusually invested in my romantic life, Ozma, when you weren’t with our other lives. What makes this so different?”

 _You,_ came the reasonable reply. _Our past lives had an easier time of avoiding love. You seem to have fallen into it quite abruptly, and the thought of avoiding Qrow Branwen is making us all miserable._

Ozpin sighed, feeling a headache threaten.

“I…don’t wish to make you all suffer on my account. But we know the danger in it.”

_Excuses. There are always dangers. But it’s not merely how miserable you are right now, Ozpin, or how much you want to keep Qrow safe._

“I’m human; I know.”

_No, you’re punishing yourself for my mistake._

“Your…” Ozpin fell quiet for a moment, tapping the rim of his mug. “You mean falling in love with Salem.”

_Yes._

“That’s illogical. You were happy together. What she did – you weren’t even alive.”

_But it was my death that made her do what she did._

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have died had you been given a choice,” Ozpin huffed.

_Don’t be petulant. What I mean is that I’ve blamed myself for what Salem did – what she has done. And as a result, every life we’ve led since then has been afraid to repeat it. But the gods are gone. There will never be another Salem. So what is the harm in letting yourself love him?_

Ozpin sighed again.

“You have no intention of letting this go, do you?”

_I have nothing better to do._

Ozpin nearly laughed. “At least I can’t fault your honesty.”

_Will you at least give Qrow some consideration?_

Ozpin leaned back in his chair, cradling his mug in his lap. 

“That’s the real problem,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

_You already know what you would choose if you did consider it._

“Talkin’ to yourself, Oz?”

Ozpin nearly dropped his mug; his thoughts had preoccupied him so greatly that he had not heard the gentle flap of a bird's wings at his window. The pull of hands on his waist, the breath in his ear - both were immediately reminiscent of the pirate king at the masquerade. Heat erupted onto his face, reminding him again and again of accidentally calling out Qrow's name, of the dreams that persisted in the last few nights. 

Ozpin looked up at Qrow’s grinning face, too surprised by the student’s appearance to form words.

"Qrow," he admonished at last, but his voice was too breathless for the rebuke to be effective. "I have an elevator for a reason."

"Yeah, for everyone else," Qrow said. "But if you insist on getting rid of it, I won't complain. I don't mind being the only one able to reach your office and bedroom," he said, releasing his grip, letting his fingers trail Ozpin's sides as they dropped.

The blush was impossible to control now, Ozpin struggled for words, for composure. How did the man always say the absolutely _worst_ thing? Qrow's fingertips seemed to leave a physical mark as they slid across him, the headmaster trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Ozpin said. "Are you quite finished with your pranks now? I do have a schedule to keep."

The words were harsher than intended, but necessary. Ozpin needed just a breath of space between them, to remain level-headed in the face of Qrow's irritatingly charming overconfidence.

Qrow understood the warning, retreating to the other side of the man's desk. "Just wanted to get the blood pumping."

 _That's exactly the problem,_ Ozpin thought, frustrated. 

_He’s not very subtle, is he?_

_He knows what he’s doing._

_How could he find out that Ozpin has feelings for him?_

_Please, Ozpin isn’t subtle either. He blushes up to his elbows –_

"If you don't mind, I'd rather stick to coffee for that sort of thing," Ozpin said aloud, cutting off the internal conversation.

Qrow shrugged. "My way is more fun, but have me your way."

Ozpin stared, fully certain that Qrow did not mean exactly what he had just heard. 

"I...beg your pardon?"

Qrow shrugged again. "I said have me arrive your way."

Ozpin almost laughed, tortured with the incessant innuendos of his own mind. Not trusting himself to speak, he relied on his coffee to buy him time to think. 

"I'll come in the front instead of the back," Qrow offered as he fell into his favorite chair. "Since you don't seem to like it from behind."

It was impossible that Qrow didn't hear the innuendos in his phrasing. Ozpin could focus on nothing else, this one sending an utterly too vivid visual to mind. 

_He’s going to keep pushing,_ Ozma lectured, _until you either rebuff his advantages or confirm them. He’s looking for an answer._

"I just prefer not to be surprised," Ozpin muttered. A moment – just one – before he heard the suggestion in his own words, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, unable to meet Qrow's eyes. 

_Oh, Ozpin…_

_I know, I know!_

Qrow could no longer suppress a grin at the headmaster.

In that moment, they were both aware of what the conversation meant.

_He knows._

The realization didn’t come with any further embarrassment; if anything, Ozpin’s temper flared. Qrow knew perfectly well what he was saying, what he was doing to the headmaster.

_The absolute ass._

_I told you: he’s looking for confirmation._

_But if he already knows –_

_You haven’t admitted it to him._

_So he’s…tormenting me like this?_

_So tell him._

_I can’t. He’s my student._

_Tell him without words._

Qrow broke into the internal conversation, his voice terribly casual: "Then I’ll try not to surprise you when I come from behind."

And in an instant, Ozpin’s anger evaporated, boiled off by the sudden heat in the office.

He pulled briefly at his scarf until he recalled the marks that still spotted his neck. 

He was completely unable to remember what he had intended for Qrow's lesson. He thought of just scrapping his forgotten lesson in favor of simply playing chess, but he was certain Qrow would find him an easy victory. 

"I suppose that's the best I can ask for," the headmaster said. 

"Do your bruises still hurt?" Qrow asked.

Ozpin's eyes shot up instantly, then just as quickly looked away.

"It's fine," he said shortly, wishing to change the direction of the conversation toward anything else but the masquerade and his former dance partner.

In a rare instance of compliance, the student listened, offering a new topic. 

"I looked up the Mistral Tango."

_Hell._

_Hell and damnation._

Ozpin sipped his coffee carefully. "Oh?" he asked. He could only hope that Qrow had lost interest in the dance since realizing the intimacy involved. "May I ask what you think?"

"I already memorized the steps,” Qrow said, his voice proud.

"Ah."

Ozpin cleared his throat, recognizing the student's zeal. The last thing Ozpin wanted to do was undermine his confidence, especially regarding social affairs. And yet that dance was anchored to so many inappropriately tinted memories and dreams – 

"Well. If you are so very sure of yourself, I suppose I must ask for a demonstration."

Perhaps after so many lifetimes of suffering, he had become a masochist.

Or maybe he merely wanted to feel Qrow’s arms around him.

Qrow rose, then offered his hand to Ozpin. "Music? If I may have this dance?"

Ozpin both regretted allowing this, and yet could not help but feel some amount of excitement at the proposition. He selected a traditional tango from his music library, rising and taking Qrow's hand. 

The student took position in front of Ozpin, guiding his hand to Qrow's chest. Ozpin was, for the first time in years, nervous at the thought of a dance, let alone one he knew well, one he was performing in private. 

_Tell him without words._

Well. Perhaps Ozpin would, if it bled through the steps of this dance.

The first beat, and Qrow spun Ozpin around with practiced skill, catching the professor against his body with such force that Ozpin's breath caught. Qrow's movements were precise, his hands tracing the lines of Ozpin's body as though he had done this before, so perfectly in tune with his partner. 

The first dip was not gentle, Ozpin feeling the half second of free fall before strong arms caught him, lifting him easily with his own momentum, spinning him back up to pause a breath away from Qrow's face. 

They seemed to remain in position a beat too long, Ozpin unable to keep himself from glancing down at Qrow's lips. 

Than another spin that sent Ozpin away, only to have his wrist seized and pulled back, this dip so, so slow, Ozpin feeing every muscle in his back stretch as he bent toward the floor. A snap back up, another second of being inches away from Qrow's face, and then the traditional tango steps that led to the finale. 

Qrow was flawless, Ozpin amazed that he could have learned it so well from a mere video instructor. The final steps were complex but Qrow synced his movements with the headmaster effortlessly, arching Ozpin into the last dip with a single arm, the professor wrapping his leg around Qrow's torso for leverage. 

The music came to an end, Ozpin unwilling to move from the heart upside down position, his thoughts a frantic suspension of pride in his student and hot-blooded excitement in a talented dancer. 

“Oh,” he said, breathless, as Qrow pulled him back upright. “That was very g – “

Qrow cut the praise off swiftly, meeting Ozpin halfway.

Ozpin froze at the press of lips against his, his brain undergoing some manner of short-circuit at the unexpected kiss, his eyes widening but unable to otherwise move. He felt every single touch of Qrow now, the hand that held Ozpin up, the taut muscles of Qrow's torso where Ozpin's leg still wrapped around him, the grip on Ozpin's grounded leg that moved to his back, lifting him, and of course the lips – 

Qrow’s mouth shifted to claim more skin and Ozpin’s eyes closed automatically, his stomach fluttering violently, thinking that he must still be dreaming, that this was some sweet fiction of his scattered, exhausted mind, sparking back to reality only when Qrow gently broke away.

"How was I?"

Ozpin heard the question as though from very far away, his senses glazed over by the realization of his own sentimentality, his ears deafened by the pounding of his heart.

“I…what?”

Qrow’s mouth formed a wry smile. “How was I?”

 _Very, very good,_ came the immediate thought, dispelled quickly when Ozpin’s sense returned. 

_He…he KISSED me._

_Yes, we noticed. He also asked you a question._

_I can’t possibly – possibly –_

"You...ah. You are remarkable for learning that from a video," Ozpin said, telling himself to step back to truly distance himself from Qrow but unwilling to do so. "Really...quite remarkable."

He had to mention the kiss. He could not leave it unspoken. And yet Qrow had stolen his words with his lips, leaving him inarticulate yet again.

***

Qrow didn't want to release the man. He didn't want the kiss to end. He wanted to keep his headmaster in his arms forever.

But Ozpin wasn’t pulling away.

In fact, Ozpin seemed to receive the kiss with a willingness that surprised even Qrow.

_He wants me so fucking bad._

"Thanks..." was all Qrow managed, then regrettably released Ozpin. _But he’d kill me if I took him now,_ he groaned to himself. _Weeks. A few weeks. Just a few fucking weeks, and-_

"We should practice that again," he said before thinking. He had no basis for the request other than more time with Ozpin. 

Close proximity with Ozpin. 

His hands on Ozpin. 

His lips...

Qrow was staring at Ozpin's mouth. His perfect, soft, eager mouth – 

He had to turn and tear his eyes away, clenching a fist behind his back.

***

It was all Ozpin could do to prevent himself from agreeing too eagerly, and yet he was certain he would dance the tango a thousand times if each time ended with a kiss.

_Tell me this is a bad idea._

And yet now, his former lives were silent, a single vibration of physicality running through them all.

"It can be a rather demanding choreography..." Ozpin couldn't bring himself to deny it outwardly, still feeling the ghost of Qrow's mouth on his. 

_We need to talk about this._

Instead, Qrow grinned. "If you'd like; my stamina can take it after my training.”

They really weren't going to talk about it. 

It was too late now, Ozpin thought, even as the more logical part of him shouted to stop this while he still could. Without a word, Ozpin restarted the music, offering his hand to Qrow.

The dance went as flawlessly as before, ending the same way. Ozpin’s heart thundered in his chest as Qrow dipped him for the final time, knowing full well that Qrow intended to kiss him again, knowing that Ozpin should refuse – had to refuse – and yet – 

Qrow jerked him back upright so quickly that Ozpin’s back protested, Qrow crushing his lips against him, Ozpin whimpering faintly into his mouth, his fingers tightening in Qrow’s sleeves, his blood racing, electric, feverish, unaware of anything that was not _Qrow –_

Qrow pulled away and Ozpin’s mouth followed him, the headmaster flushing hotly when he realized his reluctance to break the kiss.

Everything felt hot, dizzying.

"You're much better than dancing on my own."

_Good lord what am I doing –_

"...thank you," the professor said, his voice faint. "Qrow, may I ask..." 

He couldn't bring himself to finish the question. It was too much to vocalize, too much to acknowledge, his voice stolen away when Qrow released all of him but his hand, fingers trailing over Ozpin’s palm – a dedicated study of the headmaster’s hand, memorizing the skin there.

“Yeah?” Qrow asked, his voice nearly a whisper.

Words were still so elusive, Ozpin now hyper-focused on the fingers caressing his hand, the low tone that made Ozpin want to move closer.

"Ah...well. A few of your moves aren't exactly...traditional." He paused. "You learned _all_ of this from a video?"

"A few videos," Qrow smirked, as he guided Ozpin by the hand back to his chair. "Will you show me which ones need improvement?"

"I..." Ozpin sat, not immediately withdrawing his hand. "It's not a matter of improvement..."

_…phrasing, old man._

"...it's a matter of...social etiquette. I will admit that the Mistral Tango is unconventional, but in general it is rare that a dance...ends with a kiss." 

He could hardly say it without blushing furiously, irritated by his body’s immediate reaction to turn red and warm, irritated by the influence of his host’s need to be incessantly embarrassed. 

_In past lives, I could handle a bit of flirting. I was even suave at times._

_No,_ came an immediate chorus of voices. _You weren’t suave; we were._

Ozpin restrained a sigh.

"So I shouldn't kiss you or I might get punched?" Qrow teased.

_You._

Ozpin swallowed. 

"In general, that is the sort of thing that should be discussed before a performance." 

"So why not practice with you? I don’t have your…experience."

The strength of Ozpin's blush was alarming. 

They both knew what this was. Qrow was no longer ignorant of basic social etiquette as he once was, and Ozpin could not hide the obvious if reluctant responses he gave to Qrow’s advances.

This was a testing of boundaries, and Ozpin found his ability to say _no_ evaporating with every touch, aching for more.

Qrow framed this affair in terms of _social etiquette_ to save Ozpin the embarrassment of what it really was, to earn affection before it was allowed, to ease the interminable tension between them.

"I – I’m not certain that's entirely appropriate of me. As your professor." 

Qrow responded only by nodding, his expression clearly disappointed.

The look wounded Ozpin, the headmaster seriously debating relenting, just to ease that sadness. 

"We can still practice the dance though, right?" Qrow said.

Ozpin, relieved by the acquiescence at last, let out a short breath. 

"Yes, of you would like to continue practicing the dance, I suppose that would be fine."

"Of course. I have to be the prettiest peacock at the dance to impress my partner," Qrow said.

"If you wish to leave an impression at your last Beacon dance," Ozpin said, "I would be happy to help. There are a number of other dances that would catch the eye of many young ladies."

Qrow laughed. "Good, because I want to impress the men too. Something everyone will talk about for the next year. What do you have in mind, Professor? Atlas Rumba? Vale Swing? Horizontal Tango?"

"The Atlas Rumba is rather – "

Ozpin broke off, his thoughts dying abruptly. 

_The horizontal tango._

_I want to impress the men too._

The sentence sent Ozpin's mind into a fresh agitation, the implications of it so very intriguing and intruding and altogether cause for new overthinking. He took off his glasses, rubbing weary eyes.

"Really, Qrow. We discussed appropriate language ages ago. I do hope you don't speak like that to your other professors."

Qrow chuckled at his own joke. "No, just you, Professor. The rumba?"

_Just you._

"What?" Ozpin's thoughts had to be reigned in again, redirected toward the question. "Oh. Yes. The rumba. That dance has its charm, although the steps are said to be quite challenging."

"When have I ever backed down from a challenge?" Qrow asked, amusement glinting in sharp eyes.

"Never at all," Ozpin said, wondering, as he spoke, if he should have rephrased it in a safer way. But both men knew it was true, so he supposed it would do no more harm than the other more damning phrasing of the afternoon. 

"Would you prefer to start now, or would you like to surprise me again with the mastery via your video instructors?" 

A cocky grin slipped over Qrow’s lips. "I think I'll let you lead me around for a while."

Ozpin cleared his throat despite attempting to resist it. "Right. Let me find an appropriate music choice..." 

He spent a few moments longer than necessary, directing all his focus to the steps of a basic rumba. It was not a complicated dance compared to the Mistral Tango, although it would be once they included the Atlas variation. Still, it was not the same level of intimacy that the tango had, a safer option.

"The hips are the key to the rumba," the headmaster said, walking toward the center of the office. "Your left arm is held out with mine – " He took Qrow's hand and held the limbs away from them. "And your right goes just over my shoulder, but keep your arm up, at nearly a right angle." Ozpin adjusted Qrow's limb to the appropriate height. "Good. The rumba is on a four count, two steps quick and two steps slow, forward right back left, like a box step but with varying speeds."

Ozpin gently pulled against Qrow's hands to nudge him to follow Ozpin's steps. The headmaster counted the steps aloud as they moved, grateful to focus more on the instruction than the proximity of his crush - _student._

Qrow followed direction with ease knowing his partner's tempo, language, and body well. By the end of the instruction, Qrow was able to lead Ozpin without word, showing mastery of the basic steps.

 _Not surprising,_ a voice offered reasonably, _given how well he knows your body._

"Time to spice it up?" Qrow asked, with a particularly cruel sense of timing.

"I...suppose," Ozpin said slowly. "Are you already familiar with the Atlas steps...?"

"Since when have I been familiar with Atlas anything?”

Ozpin chuckled. "A fair point. The Atlas variation is reminiscent of the ballet, structured, orderly, precise, and yet somehow with an air of romance."

Qrow made a face.

The headmaster ignored the implication of the word, pressing on with the lesson. "The lead begins behind, right arm over my chest, hand on my shoulder."

He allowed Qrow to move into position, willing his thoughts to remain instructional. "My arm drapes over yours, my other over your hand on my waist. Yes, good," Ozpin said, trying very much not to think about praising Qrow for touching him. 

"At the first beat, both of us raise our arms, rather like a butterfly escaping a cocoon. Then you will lean forward, almost at ninety degrees, until your right arm can reach over the front of my waist. Do you understand?"

A nod from the student, and Ozpin pressed on. 

"You'll spin me with your right. I spin twice as you become upright again, falling against you front to back. Two simultaneous steps forward, then I take another, falling into a backwards dip from an almost _en pointe_ position, arms outstretched. Please do catch me, or else I'll end up with a bit of a headache. Then it's several measures of the traditional rumba steps. Do you follow me so far?"

Qrow furrowed his brow for a moment as if trying to process all of the words.

"I'll get it. You know I'm better doing it then saying it," Qrow said, falling into position automatically. 

Yet he began with minimal flaws, the appointment slipping from lesson to two friends spending an afternoon together, Ozpin humming as Qrow learned each new step, each new style.

“Have to admit,” Qrow said softly, as yet another song came to a gentle end, “this Atlas shit isn’t so bad.”

"You have excellent form, despite your distaste for its origin. Care to make it a little more interesting? The Atlas military may prefer the most austere form of ballet, but the subculture of jazz is quite popular amongst the younger generations. I may be able to handle a more trying variation, if you're up to it."

"Jazz?" Qrow was more than intrigued. "I've always been curious about swing too. Teach me both."

"Then let's get started now," the headmaster said, pleased by his student's enthusiasm. "The basic steps you already know; you simply need to imagine them in a new style. Swing, as the name suggests, is about freedom in movement. Your moves here will be less restricted, more impulsive. Sounds rather like you, actually," the headmaster added with a chuckle.

Composure working its way back into his mind, Ozpin reviewed the basic steps, leaving Qrow to practice alone for a moment while he searched his library for an appropriate song. 

"What do you say to a bit of fast-paced improvisation?" Ozpin asked, pausing at a song title. 

"You know me well, Ozpin" came the murmur in the headmaster’s ear. 

Heat shot into Ozpin's cheeks, unable to restrain the glare he shot the student. Ozpin pushed aside several, increasingly inappropriate scenarios in which he could feel the vibrations of Qrow's low tones and hot breath in his ear – 

"I..." He let the vowel trail, uncertain of what he even wished to say. He cleared his throat, crossing back to the center of the room, offering his hand to Qrow. 

"I'll follow your lead," the headmaster said. "Remember, less emphasis on grace, more on freedom."

"And a tight embrace," Qrow said, an arm pulling Ozpin by the waist, "I don't think you would like it if I swung you across the room."

Qrow was being absolutely cruel, Ozpin thought, his stomach twisting at the breath in his ear. The teasing was dangerous, an inadvertent intoxication far too reminiscent of Ozpin's whiskey-tinted evening at the masquerade. He hated himself and Qrow for the incessant heat on his face, and yet somehow with each whisper in his ear, Ozpin wanted more, like prey that wished to be hunted down.

His swallow was audible over the pulse in his ears, pretending he heard neither as he fell into position. A beat, and Qrow entwined his fingers in Ozpin's, pulling the headmaster closer. As promised, Ozpin followed Qrow's lead, matching his almost aggressive steps, keeping Ozpin from remaining too still, too far. Each dip, each spin away from Qrow only paused for a moment, the snap back approaching violence, Ozpin's inertia broken only by heavy collisions against Qrow. 

But Qrow was having fun. Ozpin caught glances of Qrow's satisfied grin as he set the headmaster into yet another spin, as though trying to keep the professor unsteady, holding him upright when the two men clashed together again. With Qrow's lead, the swing became a dance of violent energy, a symbiosis of Qrow's brash nature and Ozpin's synced intuition. 

The last measure of the song culminated in Qrow dipping Ozpin with both arms, the headmaster only inches from the floor. 

Yes, Ozpin thought dizzily, swing was very much Qrow's style. 

Qrow swung the professor back up to his chest, noses a mere inch apart.

_Oh._

"I think I found...my new favorite dance," Qrow whispered, panting softly against Ozpin’s lips. "It's a good workout too...your body wrapped around mine...makes me work harder."

The proximity of Qrow's mouth, the breath on the professor's face, the suggestive words that meant so much more than Ozpin could handle – Ozpin could think of nothing else beyond how much he wanted Qrow to kiss him again. 

The magnitude of that desire was overwhelming, teased beyond measure with what he could not have to the point where it became all-encompassing. The inappropriate daydreams broke free, flashes of illicit scenarios fueled by Qrow's incessant habit of saying exactly the wrong thing. 

He struggled for reason, for composure, for words – 

"...I'm glad you found some manner of motivation," he said, his voice responding in the same whisper. 

"Does this one end in a kiss?" Qrow asked, not backing away, not releasing his grip around the headmaster.

_Oh hell oh hell -_

Ozpin's mind erupted into a clash of competing answers, each louder than the last. His eyes darted from Qrow's mouth to his eyes, red and unflinching, Ozpin unable to decide which was view was worse. 

"...ah – well, the nature of – of improvisation – "

 _You talk too much,_ a voice announced.

Qrow seemed to agree, crushing his lips against Ozpin’s, the headmaster’s words swallowed, muffled when Qrow released Ozpin’s waist to seize the back of his neck, fingers entwining harshly in Ozpin’s hair.

At the pressure on his lips, Ozpin's mind went utterly blank, a slate wiped completely clean, his body taking over where his logical mind could not follow. Fingers clenched the fabric of Qrow's shirt, lips opened at the coax of Qrow's tongue, every touch electric. Objections had been chased away while Ozpin's mind attempted to catch up, to reboot after the abrupt blackout of his thoughts. 

When his voices of reason finally did resurface, they offered no assistance at all. 

_He's much better than the pirate king,_ they said in unison.

Qrow broke away with a poorly hidden grin, all cockiness, while Ozpin’s thoughts flailed about, while his stomach fluttered mercilessly.

"Need a break?" Qrow offered, attempting to subdue his smug tone.

He was perfectly aware, then, of how desperately he affected the headmaster; Ozpin attempted to rouse some manner of indignation at this, but the heat in his blood and the heavy pounding in his chest chased away the protests of his pride.

"Ah...yes," the headmaster said, clearing the breathlessness from his voice. "I think that would be wise."

 _Wise._

As if Ozpin knew the meaning of the word anymore. He let Qrow lead him back to his desk and took his seat, ignoring the slight shakiness that came with the frantic beat of his heart. 

He had to regain control over himself. He wasn’t merely flirting with the boundaries of his morality and professional responsibilities – he was actively kissing them. 

Kissing be damned – he was making out with Qrow like a teenager. 

He couldn't look across the desk at Qrow. He had no idea what the young man must think of Ozpin now. It was all too much, this shattering of the headmaster's carefully controlled world. He had made allowances to his world when he took on Qrow Branwen as a special project. 

This was not what he had planned at all.

"I've been offered a courier job in Mistral,” Qrow said abruptly. “Delivery from Atlas. Not an official Huntsman position, so shouldn't be an issue. Mostly guard detail on a trade transport. I guess Calico put in a good word for me over there...or she’s too lazy to do it herself."

Ozpin stared for a moment, aghast that Qrow could so easily change the subject, ignore everything he had just done – 

“Do you think I should take it?"

_No._

The strength of the objection shocked Ozpin himself, unguarded to the idea that Qrow might soon take a position in a foreign kingdom. 

It sounded so very far away.

"I...didn't realize you were already sending out applications," he said, slowly, to keep his words safe. "It's quite smart to begin early, of course..." He had no real objections to advise Qrow against the job, none that made any sense to the student's future. 

"Is it...a full-time position?"

"I didn't send out an application. They just called me up. Apparently, the missions you've sent me on has gotten my name around a few places. Not normal for a student to be traveling solo, so everyone thinks I'm a mercenary willing to do anything..." Qrow trailed off, returning his gaze from the window to Ozpin.

"It isn't permanent. Two weeks, max. But a week of that overlaps with classes, so have to clear it. It's not during finals so figured you wouldn't mind...unless you need me here?"

"Oh, I see."

Distance. For two weeks. 

It was not what Ozpin wanted, but it may very well be what he required. Distance from Qrow, from the dance lessons and the awful, wonderful things they caused. The headmaster wasn't concerned with Qrow's lessons; he was, despite his delinquent nature, well above average, too clever to have a problem catching up on the material missed. 

Distance.

"It sounds like a good opportunity for you to expand your resume," Ozpin said at length. "I would be willing to work with your professors concerning your absences."

***

Qrow nodded. So distance it was.

He wasn’t surprised by the answer; it was clear enough that they both needed it – Ozpin to process what Qrow had just confessed to him without words, and Qrow to physically remove the temptation of ripping Ozpin’s fucking clothes off with his damn teeth.

Qrow knew full well that if he pushed, Ozpin would let him do anything he wanted – but would Ozpin regret it afterward? Sure, Qrow was confident Ozpin was at least half in love, but the old man’s morals got in the way of everything.

No, it was better to wait until Qrow had graduated and removed all possibility of being rejected.

Qrow sighed. Not much longer, then the two would be free to stop playing these games, perpetually circling around their true desires.

"Thanks. I'll let them know," he said, rising to leave. "It'll be nice to actually be able to add something to my resume since I can't put 'Headmaster's slave' on there.”

Another involuntary clearing of Ozpin's throat, Qrow rewarded with a fresh bloom of pink on Ozpin’s face.

Fuck, he was cute when he blushed, when he struggled so desperately against wanting Qrow. Those little fake struggles when Qrow kissed him, fading quickly to acceptance, Ozpin’s mouth pressing back with such need – 

"I, ah, agree it would be good to fill it up - _out,"_ Ozpin corrected quickly, covering the verbal misstep with a cough. He reached for his mug but fumbled it, the ceramic striking the glass desktop with a shrill ring.

 _He’s an absolute fucking wreck,_ Qrow realized, ecstatic. _I’ve never seen him so flustered, and it’s because of me._

Qrow beamed. "Careful with the slip-ups, headmaster, or others might start rumors." He couldn't help the wink that followed.

Ozpin, very pink, looked as though he wished to disappear entirely.

“I’ll text you when I get there,” Qrow said as he pressed for the elevator. “Don’t miss me too much.” He stepped into the elevator and gave a little bow as the doors closed on him.

Sure, he had two weeks apart from Ozpin, but after the headmaster’s confession at the masquerade, the desperately needy kisses Ozpin returned – 

The game was over.

_Checkmate, Ozpin._

***

Ozpin's eyes followed Qrow's exit, the bees' nest of conflict in his head no less for the increased separation.

_Others might start rumors._

The horror of that statement, that any of this might become public – 

_Any of what?_

Nothing had actually happened, Ozpin told himself. Nothing that couldn't be easily swept under the rug, denied, forgotten...

Ozpin wouldn't forget. The electricity between the two men was undeniable. Ozpin didn't know what Qrow was thinking anymore, blinded to his own overwhelming desires, but Ozpin was sure now that some part of Qrow was not _this_ ignorant of social cues, _this_ reckless about pranking Ozpin in such an intimate manner, merely to watch the headmaster squirm.

This was a testing of boundaries, a prod at how much Ozpin responded and how much Qrow could push before he was rejected.

This was a confession, from both of them.

The job in Mistral would be a welcome distance. Ozpin needed the time and space to think, to recover himself away from the close contact of his dance partner and Qrow's innuendos.

Still.

Ozpin took off his glasses, rubbing his face too hard, his blood still alight from Qrow’s hands and mouth and awful, awful smirk.

Rising from his chair, the headmaster pressed the keypad to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, thinking that he wanted a strong drink, an early bed time, and a very, _very_ cold shower.


	15. In which Qrow's absence makes the heart grow fonder, with help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The time has come for giving up  
> I have lost  
> I wanted once to become what  
> I cannot
> 
> Why come to me so full of dreams?  
> Well, go on  
> With feathered keys  
> You're mocking me  
> I am locked
> 
> It's easier to pine  
> To pine  
> But  
> I can feel it  
> Through the fields of graves  
> A beating heart  
> While  
> Rolling hills are  
> Roaming through my veins  
> And open arms  
> And all is full of smoke
> 
> Ah pining
> 
> The words you speak  
> Stir things in me that I thought  
> Were gone  
> Their faint white heat  
> Melts centuries  
> Deep in  
> Frost
> 
> I can feel it  
> Through the fields of graves  
> A beating heart  
> While  
> Rolling hills are  
> Roaming through my veins  
> And open arms  
> And all is full of  
> Hope
> 
> Ah pining"
> 
> \- "Pinesong," A Fine Frenzy

The faculty of Beacon Academy filed out of the conference room one after the other, Ferra Agrios remaining behind to make a few last notes on her scroll. She rolled her neck free of stiffness after the two hours spent documenting the minutes, two hours of necessary but boring administrative minutiae, two hours – 

She glanced at the head of the table, where Professor Ozpin still sat with his chin in one palm, the other hand tapping absentmindedly against his mug. 

Two hours of the headmaster not paying the slightest bit of attention.

"Ozpin."

Ozpin glanced up at last, eyes flickering around the now empty room.

"Oh," he said.

_"Oh,"_ Ferra repeated sarcastically. "As usual, all the notes have been sent to your inbox. Do read them thoroughly."

"Thank you, Ferra."

"You've been daydreaming for days, Ozpin. Are you feeling ill?"

"No, nothing like that," the headmaster said, sitting back against his chair. He paused, adjusting his glasses. 

“If I can help – “

"Ferra, have you ever been in love?"

The abrupt question made his assistant look up from her scroll. 

_He’s still thinking about Qrow._

"Beg pardon?"

"I – never mind." Ozpin's gaze wandered toward the window. "It's just a question that has been on my mind."

"Considering you probably have all manner of information on your employees at your beck and call, I have no doubt you know I was married."

"That hardly answers the question," Ozpin said, with a hint of his usual humor.

"Don't be an ass," Ferra said.

"Ah," the headmaster said. "Then I apologize for my joke. I meant it lightly."

"It's all right. May I ask what this is about?"

Ozpin drummed on his mug again. "I'm having difficulty...being objective."

"About love? It's the opposite of objectivity by nature."

"Yes, I recall that much from past lives."

Ferra paused.

_He’s definitely still thinking about Qrow._

"I'm sorry," he said, catching her expression. "If you prefer me not to – "

"It's fine, Ozpin. Consider it…my parental obligation.” 

Ozpin shot her a wry look. “Thank you, _Mother.”_

Ferra made a face. “On second thought, I hate it.”

Ozpin laughed.

“Do you...usually remember everything from them? Your...past lives?"

"Everything," Ozpin said lightly, in a way that she knew came with a great weight. "Everything except...lately it seems past relationships are...less vivid."

Ferra placed her scroll on the table, taking her seat and turning it toward the headmaster. 

"Ozpin. Are you in love?"

Ozpin released the mug too quickly, the ceramic ringing against the table, a blush rising in his cheeks. 

"I...I don't know if that's...exactly it," he stammered.

"But you don't know if it's not," Ferra said reasonably. "Have _you_ been in love before? In another life?"

"Yes, of course. More than once."

"When was the last? I remember you joking that the last was a lifetime ago. Do you mean to tell me that wasn’t a joke?”

Still pink, Ozpin dropped his eyes again. "It's...been some time."

"Because you haven't let yourself, I'm sure. You're practically a hermit. How long?"

Ozpin shifted in his chair. "It's been more than one lifetime now."

“How many?”

“…a dozen or so.”

"A doz – gods. Well, never mind it. Before that – you recall those relationships?"

"I did. Vividly. Until..."

"Until something more immediate happened."

Ozpin flushed deeper. "It's not...I'm not..."

"You're already protesting too much, old man." 

Ozpin fell quiet for a moment. “It’s…different, with every new life. I confess this…came on quickly. Strongly. I don’t feel like myself.”

Ferra sighed. "When I fell in love with my husband, it was...irrational."

The headmaster gave her a dubious look.

"It didn't make sense. I didn't want to get married. Men irritated me for the most part. That hasn't changed."

Ozpin chuckled quietly. 

"But then, as I grew to know him, he made me feel...like a teenager. Young, alive, energetic. Being with him was like nothing else. Does that sound like what you're going through?"

Ozpin cast his eyes down. 

"I thought so," Ferra said, smug. "Do you get the proverbial butterflies when he's with you?"

Another avoidance of her eyes. 

"And when he touches you – it’s electric, right?"

"Oh, well, that's a bit strong – " Ozpin began, breaking off the sentence, instantly red with the admission. "I didn't mean _he_ \- you said _he_ as in – ah – "

"Save the objections, Ozpin, it's not news to me," Ferra said dryly.

"How – "

“Your pirate friend was a hint.”

The headmaster fell silent, blushing furiously.

"Is there a reason you're so reluctant to enter into a relationship with this man? Does he not like you in the same manner?"

"It's...not that," Ozpin said, unable to look her in the eye. "In fact, I have every reason...to think otherwise."

"Is it your position?"

"That...is part of it." The headmaster spoke cautiously, as though weighing every word. 

Ferra sighed. "You're protecting him."

Ozpin pressed his lips together. 

"Sir..."

"I don't think you're likely to convince me I'm able to do so. The simple truth is that people who are close to me are hurt. The Huntsmen that I hire under the table are aware of the danger, and follow my orders understanding that. Nevertheless, Ferra, I am tired of burying them."

Ferra said nothing, letting the silence be her protest. 

"Even were he to agree to – to a personal relationship," Ozpin continued, "the fact is that if it was publicly known, he would be an obvious target to get to me, and I..." 

The headmaster took a long breath. 

"Sometimes I'm not certain that if I had to choose between him and the world, I could choose the world."

Ferra nodded slowly. 

"So you're protecting yourself," she said.

"I – what?"

"You're saving yourself from making difficult decisions that may never actually occur because you're afraid of them," she said flatly. "Because for some reason or another, you find it impossible to become close to anyone anymore. You punish yourself for anything and everything that goes wrong, so you've decided this will all go wrong prematurely. Ozpin, it's just another way you're punishing yourself, except this time you haven't even done anything!"

Ozpin pushed his chair back, shaking his head as he rose. "You don't understand – "

"That's what men say when a woman disagrees with them," Ferra countered. 

"I think I've said enough on the matter," the headmaster said.

"Fine. Just...think about it a bit more. Please."

Ozpin hesitated at the door.

"You do deserve to be happy, despite yourself."

The headmaster simply shook his head, closing the door behind him. 

Ferra sat back heavily, sighing. She thought of texting Branwen but she had no idea what to tell him – that Ozpin was likely in love with him, but planned on rejecting him? That she shouldn't explain his convoluted moralistic reasoning as to why? 

Instead, she replaced the scroll in her pocket, wondering if she had made everything just a little worse.

***

A few days into Qrow's absence, and Ferra Agrios was absolutely ecstatic. For a blissful three days, she had none of the consequences of Branwen's presence; no late night or early morning shrill notifications on her scroll, no checking the cameras for Team STRQ's whereabouts, no chasing down her headmaster after a meeting to find him playing chess instead.

It was altogether far too pleasing. 

She settled in her chair in the headmaster's office, rattling off the latest responsibilities that Ozpin had no excuse to avoid, everything being dealt with such efficiency and thoroughness that she could have inappropriate dreams about the lack of red tape. 

There was, however, one minor problem. 

Ozpin hummed at her announcements, her to-do list for him, agreeing with her without thinking, his eyes lowered on his scroll. She might have thought him dutifully recording her words, but she knew the sight slump of his shoulders, the weight of his head against the palm of one hand, the long exhales when he thought she wasn't paying attention.

She broke off her list mid-sentence, sighing dramatically. 

"Will you just text him?"

The professor looked up at her in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"Branwen. That's who you're pining over, isn't it?"

A tiny spot of pink appeared on the headmaster's cheeks. "I'm hardly doing anything of the sort."

"When did you last hear from him?"

"When he arrived in Mistral," Ozpin said. "I knew he would be busy, but..."

"I'm sure he's fine, Ozpin," Ferra said, forcing some softness into her voice. 

"I'm not worried expressly about that," Ozpin said, putting the scroll in his coat pocket. "The job wasn't intended to be dangerous."

"So then you simply miss him."

"I suppose I do," he said. "I'm not accustomed to such..."

"Peace? Quiet? Productivity?" Ferra offered each suggestion from her own personal experience over the last few days.

"Yes," Ozpin said, sipping his coffee. "Isn't it dreadful."

Ferra snorted. "Sir, may I ask..." She broke off the impulsive question, unsure as to its wisdom.

"Go on, Ferra."

Another hesitation, and then she shrugged, deciding to forge ahead.

"Have you noticed that Branwen may be a bit..." She thought about keeping her phrasing courteous, then just as quickly dismissed it.

"Have you noticed that Branwen has a crush on you?"

The headmaster turned fully pink now, dropping her gaze. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't be naive, sir. It's obvious enough that even you can't deny it."

Ozpin fidgeted with his mug, still avoiding her eyes. "Do you believe so?"

“Ozpin. He stares."

"He always stares."

"He undresses you with his eyes."

The pink deepened to red.

"Really, Ferra," he said.

"I don't mention this to make you uncomfortable - well, perhaps a _little_ \- but because of how...intense Branwen can be."

"Yes," Ozpin said, absently. 

Ferra sighed, letting her head fall against her chest with the last of her breath. The obstinate ass. She was fairly certain that between the two men, she was the only one who could clearly see what was happening. 

“Do you intend on rejecting him?”

Ozpin raised his eyes, shifting uncomfortably. “He’s a student, Ferra.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Doesn’t it?” Ozpin said, his voice hitting an unexpectedly desperate note.

Ferra sighed.

“He won’t always be a student, Ozpin.”

The headmaster looked away again.

Ferra was, for a moment, stunned that he didn’t protest further.

_This is more than just a crush._

"Will you just text him already?"

The sharp tone almost made Ozpin flinch. 

"Really," she huffed. "If you want to speak with him, then speak with him."

"Yes, dear," Ozpin said, amused by her exasperation. 

"I'll leave you to it, then," she said, rising. "And sir...do tread lightly with Branwen."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean, Ferra."

She snorted as she pushed the button for the elevator. "Stubborn bastards," she said. "Both of you. You deserve each other."

"Still haven't the faintest idea," came Ozpin's playfully dismissive tone, echoing lightly in the elevator as the doors closed. 

Ferra shook her head to herself. Ozpin would never involve himself with a student, but Branwen's graduation was impending. She wondered how long Branwen would wait. Two, three minutes?

She chuckled into the empty elevator. Branwen would eat Ozpin alive. She almost felt sorry for her headmaster, if he didn't so greatly deserve it.

***

Ferra Agrios was many things, but stubborn was certainly one of them; stubborn and not inclined to quit when she knew she very well should – which of course was why she had worked under Professor Ozpin for so many years.

Now she would discover whether she was more stubborn than the headmaster himself. She had spent some time mulling over the headmaster's objections to his newfound romance, and decided that the only way she could convince him to accept Qrow's affections was to remind Ozpin of how very fond he was of Qrow himself. Ozpin had already demonstrated that Qrow was frequently on his mind.

Ferra was determined to make Ozpin think of almost nothing else.

She brought him a fresh cup of coffee with his meeting schedule on Wednesday, the morning all business, Ozpin seemingly focused on his work again, the daydreams gone from behind his glasses.

She let their meeting continue without incident, lowering the headmaster's guard through professionalism, no hint as to their previous conversation.

Not yet, anyway.

"If that's all, I think we can conclude there," Ozpin said, adding Ferra's digital files to his computer, placing her scroll on the desktop. 

"That's all," his assistant said, retrieving the device. "Except for one question."

"Ask away."

"When did you fall for him?”

Ozpin blinked at her, as though he did not understand the question, and then all at once he went pink, dropping eye contact.

"I believe I said I was done with that conversation," he said. "You may go, Ferra."

"Yes, sir," she said, unable to conceal the smirk, obediently retreating to the elevator. As the doors closed, however, she spied Ozpin put his chin in one palm, eyes staring off into nothing.

She carried out this method of blitzkrieg throughout the week, turning innocent business into an ambush of interrogation, asking questions meant to bring Qrow to immediate mind, but none that would focus Ozpin's attention on previous moral dilemmas:

"Has he asked you out yet?"

"What's his favorite color?"

“What made you fall for him?” 

“Is this why you’ve always let him get away with everything?”

"Does he know you have a crush on him?"

“Do you dream about him?”

After a week, Ferra could sense the tension rise in Ozpin by her mere presence, waiting with defenses up for when her next inevitable question would attack, his shutdowns becoming less polite and increasingly impatient. Ferra rarely saw evidence of Ozpin's temper, but after a week of this harassment, she saw the flash of anger in his eyes when their conversations drifted to anything that was not absolutely professional.

On the tenth day of questioning, Ferra stopped. 

She saw the suspicion in Ozpin's face when meetings came and went without incident, disbelieving that Ferra would so abruptly give up her tactics.

Another day passed, and then another. Slowly, slowly, the headmaster began to relax around her again.

On the fourteenth day, when Ozpin was all good moods because Qrow had arrived back – 

"Have you kissed him yet?"

Ozpin slammed his mug down on his desk with enough force that the gears below the glass seemed to skip a beat, the black coffee sloshing dangerously close to the brim. 

_"Yes,_ all right?" he said, voice raised. "Ferra, I have been _immensely_ patient with your curiosity, but – "

He caught the astonished expression on her face and paused.

Ferra let out a long breath. "You _have_ kissed him, then?"

The outrage on the headmaster's face instantly transformed into mild horror, the blush following after, darkening on pale cheeks. 

"I – I didn't mean..." 

Weak protests died quickly, and Ozpin let out a long sigh, slumping against the back of his chair. 

"Color me impressed," Ferra remarked. "I didn't think anyone could get past your defenses."

"You make it sound as though I'm some sort of castle that requires conquering," Ozpin said irritably. "I _am_ human."

"Was it a good kiss?"

_"Ferra."_

"Oh, come now. You don't exactly have friends, so I'm offering my ear. Don't tell me you really you don't want to talk about it."

"I really do not wish to talk about it," the headmaster countered. 

"That bad, huh?"

"It _wasn't – "_ Ozpin recognized the bait a moment too late, straightening in his chair. "That's enough. We're quite finished."

"That _good,_ then? My, I'm a bit envious."

"Ferra!"

"I'm going, I'm going," she said, hands up in mock surrender. "I'll leave you to your thoughts, sir."

Ozpin offered none of his usual polite farewells, almost glaring at her as she stepped onto the elevator. She danced impatiently on her heels as it traveled to the bottom floor, aware Ozpin had eyes in the elevator as much as though he were there. Only after she stepped off into the school's main hall did she open her scroll, fingers moving to write a rapid text to her unlikely partner in crime.

"You're an ass. You never told me how much you've gotten away with."

Her scroll pinged almost instantaneously. 

"You never asked."

Ferra rolled her eyes. "I meant with the headmaster," she wrote back. 

"Oz wouldn't appreciate it if I kiss and tell."

"Spare me the riddles, Branwen. He admitted as much himself, even if accidentally."

"Then what are you on my ass for?"

"We're supposed to be _partners,_ and you're holding out critical information."

"I wasn't aware it was _need to know."_

"Like hell," Ferra wrote. "If you want real help from me, you need to tell me when something big happens!"

"Ask away."

She paused in the middle of the hall, a student colliding with her, stammering an apology that she ignored entirely. 

"Did you really kiss him?"

This time, a long pause preceded the message as if the young man were contemplating his response. 

"Yes."

"DETAILS."

"Our lips touched. What the fuck do you mean, 'details'?"

Ferra restrained the urge to groan aloud. _Men._

"I mean what happened before? How the hell did you convince him? How did he react? _Details."_

"Which time?"

_"IT HAPPENED MORE THAN ONCE?!"_

"Would I have asked which time otherwise? Can we talk about this in person where there isn't a paper trail?"

Ferra sighed, acknowledging that wisdom. 

"Fine," she wrote back. "Courtyard, at your leisure." Message sent, Ferra set off immediately, impatient for the gory details neither man seemed inclined to give her.

Ten minutes later, Branwen strolled into the courtyard as if he had all the time in the world. 

"Hey, Ferra," he said casually. "To Oz’s favorite bench?” He motioned in the vague direction of the stone bench almost overrun with hedges and trees in need of pruning that maintenance always seemed to neglect, where Ferra knew she could find Ozpin on days with good weather, when he needed some reminders of what the world looked like. 

Ferra followed him without a word, knowing the need for privacy – the only reason the two would normally be seen together would be because of some stunt or prank Branwen had pulled, and Ferra was not inclined to do any lecturing now. Now she wanted Qrow to talk about other stunts altogether.

"So," she said curtly, taking a seat on the secluded bench. "I've been working for weeks making sure the headmaster keeps you on his mind, and now you tell me you're withholding pertinent information. Spill."

The student ran his tongue over his teeth in contemplation, as though debating the wisdom of sharing such personal information with such a newly aligned ally. 

At last he caved, ticking off his sentences on his fingers.

"We've kissed. Coupla times this year. Drugged in the hospital, but I don’t think he remembers. Stolen during a dance, but he didn't know it was me. Stolen during dance lessons, and he did know it was me.”

Ferra processed this information quickly; she wasn't surprised to learn of the kiss in the hospital – Ozpin had admitted to a similar dream while under the influence of his pain medications. The dance was perhaps to be expected, but without Ozpin knowing the pirate who caught his eye was Qrow, the matter was moot. The other time, however...

"Dance lessons," she repeated slowly. "That was only a few weeks ago. He's been impossibly distracted from work ever since. Whatever you pulled, he's certainly been affected. Damn the man. He very nearly confided in me, but pulled away again."

"What did he say?" Qrow asked, straightening his spine a bit, a note of urgency in his tone.

"He asked me if I had ever been in love in that abrupt, cryptic manner of his. Said he was suddenly having difficulty recalling feelings from past lives in that regard. He's never said anything of the sort to me in all my years here."

"He thinks he might be fallin'," Qrow concluded, grinning.

"That's what it sounded like to me – like his feelings for you are obscuring past memories."

"Good," Qrow said. "The more he tries to remember, the more he thinks of me."

"Hence why I've been trying to keep his mind on you," Ferra said. "Although I have to warn you, he's not sold on the idea – not yet. His damnable morals. Frankly I'm surprised you've gotten anywhere at all with him. Small wonder he's distracted and confused. You've turned his principles upside down."

"By the time I'm done with him, his principals will be rewritten with foot notes sayin', 'Except for Qrow.'"

Ferra sighed. "You may want to reserve the bravado until he says yes properly," she said. "He told me he hadn't been involved with anyone for years - _lifetimes._ You've won a few battles and lowered his defenses, but you haven't won the war. When you've moved from a kiss to an overt declaration, then I'll retract that statement."

Qrow rolled his eyes. 

“I know he wants me. He _needs_ me.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong,” Ferra said. “He changes when you’re around, Branwen. He’s happier. You deserve to know that. But you also deserve to know that he’s still debating the situation.”

Qrow shook his head, letting out a soft growl. "Alright, alright. Just don't lose your shit when I'm right on graduation day."

"Fine," Ferra said curtly. "Then what is your plan for graduation day? Wait five minutes after the ceremony and shove him against a wall?"

Qrow shrugged. "Pretty much. You shoulda seen him at our dance lessons. He was meltin’ in my arms. Figure I’ll just do that again.”

Ferra sighed more dramatically. "For goodness' sake, don't you know anything about _actual_ romance? Do you really think you're so irresistible that he won't be able to say no to you?"

Qrow's eyebrow shot up in amusement and curiosity, his infamous smirk tugging at his lips. "You really think he's gonna turn me down?"

"To be honest, no. I think he’s beyond that. I just don't think you should take this so lightly. Yes, he has feelings for you. He may even be in love with you. But you know his morals. They're questionable at times, but he holds to them like life itself." Ferra paused, her tone softening. "We may not be the best of friends, Branwen, but I'm willing to admit I want you two idiots happy."

"I didn't know you cared," Qrow said sardonically. "He may be ancient, and he may not believe it anymore, but Oz is still human. Something's gonna give. When it does, I'll be there." Qrow winked, all confidence.

"Don't make me regret it," Ferra huffed. "All right, fine, I'll assume that by graduation, Ozpin will be swooning at your feet when you make your final move. The real question is then – what else are you planning to get him to that point? My questions may have been effective, but I doubt I can keep it up much longer without running a real risk of being fired."

Qrow shrugged. "Blow job, quick fuck...you know, the usual."

Ferra made a noise between a sigh and a growl. "Branwen, I swear if you don't take this at least half seriously I will leave you to your own frat boy devices and wash my hands of all of this. In fact, if I didn't care so much for your oblivious headmaster's happiness, I would have already."

Qrow snickered to himself. “Come on, Ferra. You know I'm only joking..."

Ferra offered him her worst glare.

To her surprise, Qrow relented, his voice softening. 

"I'll do whatever I need to get him. If that means having to play 'perfect student' again like last year...then I will. If that means starting by fucking holding hands...well, we're past that. But you get it. I don't make plans so they can't go wrong. With my lu – " 

Qrow shook his head to stop that train of thought. "But I’ll listen to him. I have been. Not his words, but _him._ If he wasn't interested, I wouldn't have bothered sticking around this long."

Qrow sighed again, slouching his back against the bench as if the serious conversation were more draining than he'd given it credit for. 

"That a good enough answer for you?" he asked.

Ferra regarded the student carefully. 

"Yes, thank you. As much as it physically pains me to say it, don't play perfect. That's not who you are and that's not what attracted Ozpin. You're better off testing boundaries as usual."

She let her shoulders relax, leaning again the back of the bench wearily. "That said, if you could attempt pranks that have slightly less property damage, I would appreciate it. In the meantime, perhaps we should plot a few things to make Ozpin a little less hesitant." 

"Booze. It always works." Qrow grinned, stretching his arms behind his head where he interlocked his fingers.

"I was not aware you had stooped so low as to spike the headmaster," Ferra said, exasperated, "but I'm not the slightest bit surprised. Perhaps you should find a plan that does not involve moments of questionable consent?"

"Alcohol just loosens you up for – heh. Well, it _loosens_ you up."

Ferra wrinkled her nose at the comment. Prior to this year, she had never once even considered Ozpin as having a sexuality; he had been somehow so removed from the rest of humanity that he seemed above that sort of human aspect of life. Now suddenly she was entirely too involved in her employer’s potential love life.

"I don't need the locker room talk, Branwen," she said. "Just don't rely too heavily on that sort of tactic. From what I can tell, your little dance sate pushed him in the right direction; we just need to keep the momentum going. I suppose if that means your usual brand of flirting – which seems to work for reasons I cannot fathom – then so be it. But remind him – remind him that love is more than pining and sighing. Have fun with him. Remind him how to have fun."

"Now that I have your permission," Qrow said, with a sarcastic bow, but his demeanor shifted to serious once more by the time he rose. 

"He has my loyalty, Ferra.”

"I know," Ferra said softly. "If he didn't, I would never have even considered encouraging you the way I have been. It's probably inconceivable that I would encourage you to seek a relationship with your headmaster after your graduation, but..."

She sighed. 

"Lifetimes, Branwen. Hundreds of years. That's how long he's been alone. I can’t stop thinking about that. It’s almost enough to break my old heart. There's something different about how he sees you. So do whatever it is you're doing, and I'll do what I can from the sidelines. Deal?"

"Done," Qrow said stretching beside the park bench. "Don't worry about Oz being lonely...I plan on making up for all that lost time.”

Ferra held up her hands as though in surrender. "Just warn me after your graduation if there's a time I shouldn't come up to the damn clock tower. There are some things I don't need to know about. So I can sleep at night."

"You know after he makes the closing speech and walks off stage?"

Ferra narrowed her eyes. "Yes...what about it?"

"Then," he smirked. "And probably until the next day. Noon should do it. Actually, you know, maybe just give us a week to – ”

Ferra made an exasperated noise, rising before Qrow could finish whatever vulgar point he was trying to make. 

“That’s quite enough, Branwen. I’ll bid you a good day now. And,” she said, pausing before she left the quiet solitude of the greenery, “welcome home.”

“Thanks, Ferra,” Qrow said, without a hint of sarcasm.

_So he means all of it,_ she thought, making her way back to the clock tower. _And Ozpin means to find reasons not to._

An immovable object meets an unstoppable force.

The age-old question of which would prove stronger. 

Ferra would bet her life savings on Branwen, if she had anyone to wager the thing.

_I’ll settle,_ she thought, _for telling Ozpin ‘I told you so’ when this is over._


	16. In which Ozpin finally accepts a date, and Qrow isn't happy about it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And everything's right, everything's wrong  
> When you call my name  
> All the hands on the clock keep moving along  
> While we're staying the same  
> I don’t wanna go out, I wanna get drunk and litter my lungs  
> And I know it ain't right but nothing makes sense anymore
> 
> And I don't think I can stop the jealousy  
> When it comes, it comes like waves and I can't breathe  
> And I don't think I can stop the jealousy  
> When it runs, it runs like lightning in my teeth
> 
> I want you to tell me what to do  
> I want you to tell me what you need  
> When you look at me like you do  
> Don't leave, I just can't get enough"
> 
> \- "Jealous Sea", Meg Myers

Professor Ozpin rarely found reason to leave the vast campus of Beacon Academy, too often working six days a week in his clocktower, leaving his desk only for school business or to sleep in the adjoined apartment. Despite the tabs Ozpin kept on Grimm and Huntsmen activity all over the world, he often felt that the world did not extend beyond his bedroom and office.

He did, therefore, plan for times when he could leave Beacon for fresh air that the campus could not provide, usually Sundays, when he forced himself to avoid working. For just one day, Ozpin would close his office door and find something to distract him. Some days he would travel by airship to cities so far away he could recall the rest of the world; others, like today, he simply took to the streets of Vale, to visit bakeries or bookstores or a charming little cafe central to them all. 

The employees at The Sacred Grounds knew him - most of Vale did by sight, but the cafe did not treat him as Professor Ozpin, Headmaster of Beacon Academy. They knew him as the kind man with silver hair who came in some Sundays for a cup of black coffee with a dusty hardcover book, who knew all the baristas by name and offered them all a smile and a kindly, "Good morning."

Sometimes the employees would offer the headmaster a complimentary pastry, despite his austere coffee order. This happened most frequently when the cafe owner was in.

Coal Cheswick was in this morning when Ozpin came in, hearing the professor's soothing tones from the back room. He paused with his hand hovering over his calculator and the pile of invoices before him, thinking that perhaps this was a pleasant time for a break.

When Cheswick emerged from the back office, he found Ozpin at his usual corner table, facing the window where the sun could reach his book. He was in early enough this time for the morning sun to bathe him entirely, light glinting off his tinted glasses, casting shadows on his pale complexion, his silver hair almost white.

"Take him a chocolate croissant," Cheswick told the barista quietly, taking over her duties at the dishes. 

The girl shot her boss a questioning glance but obeyed, placing the pastry on a plate and delivering it to the solitary patron. 

Ozpin looked up from his book in surprise, his eyes darting to Cheswick despite the girl explaining it was on the house. 

"How very generous," the headmaster said, his eyes still on the cafe owner. 

Cheswick responded with an almost dismissive wave of his towel, bowing his head back over his task. He could still feel Ozpin's brown eyes on him, but he did not meet the gaze again. He had every intention of speaking to Ozpin again this morning, but Cheswick found the quiet, elusive professor akin to a gentle wild animal; too much attention and he would vanish again, with no hint of when he might return to the cafe.

Cheswick knew a bit of Ozpin from the headmaster's visits – at least in terms of taste. He took his coffee strong and black. He had a sweet tooth that he only obliged once in a while, when Cheswick had made chocolate croissants or iced vanilla scones that morning, the usual prompt coffee order held up as the professor visibly hesitated in front of the pastry display. 

Those little hesitations were what first caught Cheswick's eye; the clean suit and polished shoes and proper cane all denoting the headmaster's upstanding reputation and profession, and yet the man caved before the potential for a sweet breakfast. Cheswick could not exactly explain what made the dichotomy of that professionalism and childlike desire that made Ozpin so immediately interesting, but the cafe owner found himself doting on the headmaster with every Sunday visit. 

He didn’t know much beyond that and that Ozpin was kind; all else was a mystery. He never found out why Ozpin had come to the café last year in disguise, holding hands with a cocky young man Coal didn’t recognize. That display of affection had crushed Coal for several weeks, his baristas rolling their eyes as he went about business with an air of dramatic melancholy; and yet when Ozpin finally returned, he was himself again, and alone.

The young man never came back, and so Coal slowly let his hope rekindle.

The next hour and a half were spent in the cafe, Cheswick doing the chores usually left to the barista on duty, his eyes flickering again and again to the silver-haired man at the corner table.  
Only after the cafe was spotless did the barista give Cheswick a look.

"What?" he mouthed, unwilling to break the gentle silence of the cafe when Ozpin was reading.

"Talk to him!" the girl lipped back, gesturing aggressively with her hands.

Cheswick shook his head. He knew who Ozpin was and understood these quiet Sunday mornings were likely his only time to relax away from Beacon; he couldn't bring himself to interrupt. 

The barista responded by throwing her hands in the air. "So you'll just stare and throw pastries at him?" she said, scarcely audible.

"Yes!" Cheswick hissed. 

The girl rolled her eyes, the motion stopped abruptly, her gaze moving beyond her boss. 

Cheswick turned, following her gaze to where Professor Ozpin now stood behind him.

"Am I interrupting?" the headmaster asked politely. 

"No," Cheswick said quickly, facing forward and placing himself in front of the barista. 

"I hope that you don't run a mute cafe merely for my account, Coal," Ozpin said lightly. "I assure you that I don't mind hearing your voice."

Cheswick felt a blush rise up. 

Was Ozpin flirting with him? Was he only making a polite joke? His expression was impossible to read. 

"Thank you for the croissant," the professor continued, saving Cheswick from stammering a reply. "I believe you make the best chocolate croissants in Vale."

"Thanks." He could see the barista behind the rows of coffee grinders, making a gesture with her hands again, no doubt trying to tell him that he was absolutely ruining everything.

"You really shouldn't tempt me with them so often," Ozpin remarked. "I'm not a businessman, but I imagine I cost you a penny or two with your generosity."

"Oh. No, it's fine. They're best on the day they're made anyway, or else the chocolate cream begins to harden -"

Cheswick was distracted by the sudden flailing from his barista, as though exasperated that he could possibly talk about expired pastries when Ozpin was so welcoming to proper conversation for once. 

"Susan, don't you have some of that Mistral blend to grind?" Cheswick said abruptly. "I think it's in the storage room. The very back."

The barista rolled her eyes and threw her hands up again, disappearing into the back of the cafe without a word.

"Teenagers," Cheswick said, cringing at this useless addition to the conversation. 

"Yes, I can commiserate," Ozpin said, his lips twitching in a smile as though to remind Cheswick the man ran an academy filled with teenagers. 

"Right, of course." Cheswick berated himself internally. Susan was right; he was making a mess of everything. It could be weeks before Ozpin returned to the cafe. Cheswick only had this opportunity, or risk waiting and watching the door every Sunday morning until the headmaster had a craving for chocolate croissants. 

"Look, Ozpin…" Cheswick almost lost his nerve right then; Ozpin had repeatedly asked Cheswick to call him by name, and yet the lack of formality felt wrong. "If you like my desserts, you should try the Crystal Winery. Just a few blocks away. They have the best strawberry souffle you'll ever taste."

The recommendation brought a glint to the headmaster's eyes. "Oh?"

"They pair it with an exclusive champagne made specifically for the souffle. It's a match made in heaven."

"What did I tell you about tempting me, Coal?" Ozpin said, chuckling. 

Cheswick found himself holding his breath at the question. 

"I may require a reservation at the Crystal Winery soon," the professor said. "However, I did mean what I said regarding the croissants. Allow me to pay for them, or at least offer a tip to your employees – "

"Go with me."

The headmaster paused, his hand still in his coat pocket, reaching for his wallet. "I beg your pardon?"

"To the Crystal Winery," Cheswick said, the words spilling quickly. "It's a dessert meant for two, and since you're always alone – not that you're _always_ alone, but here – I mean, since I'm alone as well, I thought – " 

_Just spit it out!_

Cheswick took a deep breath. "I enjoy your company, Ozpin. I would like the opportunity to take you to dinner."

It was done. He had done it. Cheswick almost didn't care what Ozpin's answer was; Cheswick didn't know much about his private life, after all. There could be a Mrs. Ozpin, or a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or just a disinterest in anything romantic, or Ozpin could be as wise as he seemed and find Cheswick utterly silly and someone to avoid. He braced himself for the gentle, polite rebuff, telling himself it was enough that he had asked.

Instead, Ozpin turned very pink.

In that moment, Cheswick saw Ozpin's barriers crumble; the professor fidgeted with his cane, looking suddenly embarrassed, his usual calm tone replaced with faltering syllables.

"Oh. I – well. I think – I think that would be lovely."

"What?" Cheswick said gracelessly, certain he had misheard the professor. He felt his cheeks alight until he knew he was even redder than Ozpin. "Oh. I – good. I – I’m glad."

Cheswick was utterly surprised that Ozpin broke their eye contact first, his pale cheeks still tinged with pink. 

"I know you're busy," Cheswick said, speaking quickly before Ozpin could come to his senses and reconsider. "Would Friday evening work?"

"I – I believe so, yes," Ozpin said. "I may need to check my schedule - "

"Of course," Cheswick said quickly. "If you have to cancel, you can reach me here – "

"Do you have your scroll with you?"

"What? Oh. Yes, here – "

Ozpin gently took the device from Cheswick's hand, turning it toward himself. His fingers moved rapidly over the buttons, placing it back in Cheswick's palm. 

"My number," the headmaster said quietly. 

Cheswick could only stare at his scroll, amazed. 

"Good morning, Coal," Ozpin said, his eye contact brief, his cheeks still pink. 

"Good morning," Cheswick stammered. "I – I’ll text you."

Ozpin offered one last smile – almost shy for a man usually so seemingly in control – before he stepped out into the sunlight.

Cheswick let out the breath he had been holding, deflating against the front counter.

"I thought you'd never do it," came Susan's satisfied voice from the back room. "Took you long enough!"

Cheswick only laughed, too absolutely pleased with the morning to find reason to rebuke her sass.

***

Midweek after classes, Qrow Branwen watched Professor Ozpin stare diligently at his computer, carefully taking in each word, each syllable, so immersed that the professor paid no heed when his scroll dinged to life with a message in the otherwise silent office.

Qrow leaned forward from his customary chair to glance at the sender: Ferra Agrios. She was going to be pissed if it was important.

Yet the young man remained silent. If the headmaster were ignoring his scroll, this must be a life-or-death matter.

Twice Qrow read the screen at which the headmaster's focus was unwavering. Twice he confirmed the headmaster was staring off into space.

Was he sleeping with his eyes open?

"Oz," the student said loudly, abruptly startling the man out of his trance. 

The headmaster roused himself back to reality with a shake of his head, eyes flickering from his monitors to the student who sat across from him.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" Ozpin asked.

"Ferra messaged," he replied nodding towards the headmaster's scroll. "She's quitting," he smirked sarcastically.

Behind his jest, Qrow briefly lectured himself for not taking further advantage of the headmaster's distracted state. Sure, the student was able to check him out all he wanted – every ruffle of his coat hiding desirables beneath, every strand of silver hair somehow neatly out of place...but if the headmaster were truly this distracted, then Qrow knew it had to be serious.

Which meant work time.

"What's on your mind?" the student asked, his tone casual as he stretched his arms behind his head. Relaxed as his demeanor was, Qrow's eyes remained sharp for any bullshit Ozpin might try to slide past him.

"Oh, nothing important," the headmaster said, his tone falsely offhanded. He shot off a quick reply to Ferra, placing the scroll back down, eyes still on the device as though he expected it to go off again.

And it did. However, this time Ozpin snatched it back up quickly. 

Almost as if he wanted to hide the contact name that appeared.

For a moment Ozpin was silent, eyes skimming the words of his message. Then he sent off another brief response, clicking he screen off and placing the scroll upside down.

"It seems I will need to reschedule our usual Friday meeting," Ozpin said, the lightness in his voice still sounding slightly forced. "I have another...appointment."

Qrow's eyes sharpened further, his features scrutinizing – half concern, half suspect.

"That wasn't Ferra. You need me on backup?" he spoke softly, but his offer resolute - more statement than question.

"No, nothing like that," the professor said. "Just a message from...a friend. Although you're correct in sensing my preoccupation. I've been debating whether I made the right decision about something." He hesitated, as though uncertain to say more. "Regarding a small personal matter."

The suspicion in the student's crimson eyes grew. "'A friend,'" Qrow repeated, mulling the term about in his mind. The only people Ozpin would consider a friend were sitting right across from him or getting ignored on his scroll.

No... something was definitely wrong.

"Do I need to kick someone's ass? Off the record."

Ozpin laughed, shaking his head. 

"Nothing like that," the headmaster said. "In fact, I'm certain I have nothing to worry about at all. I probably simply need more sleep."

Glancing at Qrow's skeptical expression, Ozpin chuckled again. 

"It's just dinner plans with a friend," he said. "Don't you always tell me how I work too much? I'm sure it will be good for me to get out of the office for one evening."

"If it's a _friend_ then why are you debating it's the wrong decision?" Qrow countered. He knew damned well this wasn't a _friend._ Qrow already knew anyone Oz would use that term with. No, what the headmaster meant was _friendly acquaintance._ Which was somehow much worse.

The headmaster gave a shrug. 

"Perhaps _because_ I work too much, and I presume I should be instead of taking the evening off."

Ozpin tapped the backside of his scroll, eyes growing distant again. "I think I can handle one evening at dinner without backup," he said. "Not everyone I meet is plotting against my life."

Qrow frowned at the professor's attempt at polite jest. It was too soon, the scene of Ozpin doubling over, writhing in pain far too fresh in the young man's mind for him to find any amusement in headmaster's words.

Qrow fought the knots forming in his stomach - the recollection threatening to make him ill.

Ozpin didn't want Qrow there for a reason. Next question is what the reason was.

_Personal matter_ with a _friend._

"Is it a date?" he asked blatantly.

Ozpin almost dropped his scroll, flushing pink. 

"I highly doubt that," the headmaster said quickly. "I think he would have mentioned if – "

Ozpin cleared his throat. 

"It's just dinner," he said.

Qrow's eyes dropped to watch the scroll falter in the older man's fumbling hands, his gaze eventually roaming back up to the professor's.

_You’re too obvious._

"Then have fun," Qrow smiled, too obligingly.

"It's not a date," Ozpin said, continuing to protest despite Qrow saying nothing about the nature of the outing. He looked away, still fidgeting with the scroll. "You're always saying I work too much, Ferra says I don't go out enough, so I'm doing something about it."

"You can always go out with me," Qrow offered off-handedly.

The scroll clattered to the floor, Ozpin bending to pick it up, taking his time in straightening back up against the back of his chair. He managed a laugh that didn't sound genuine.

"Don't you tire of me?" the headmaster said. "I wouldn't presume to take up more of your free time..."

"Then let's do something worthy of our free time," Qrow said, dropping his voice.

Ozpin placed his scroll on his desk, the action deliberate, eyes firmly on anything that was not Qrow.

"I thought that we were doing so," he said. "But I suppose I can't expect you to always enjoy chess and dancing. Ferra calls them 'old man hobbies.'"

"They're fun, but according to you they aren't enough because they aren't outside," Qrow reasoned, gracefully leaning in to close the distance between the two men. 

"So take me out," he challenged.

Ozpin shifted in his chair, pink tint remaining.

"If...you truly wish to go," the professor said, "I suppose I have no objections so long as it does not interfere with your classes..."

"I do. After classes. You work during them anyway. We can leave on a Friday and return on a Sunday. Vacuo has an Oasis..."

“Vacuo?" the headmaster repeated. "I - that's rather a long distance. I thought you meant something in town..."

Qrow shrugged, "Either or. Figured it'd be more change in scenery and all that stuff Ferra's always saying you need."

"With my habits, merely leaving my office is scenery enough," Ozpin said dryly. "But I suppose we could consider something outside of the school, should I have the time."

He paused, examining Qrow. "Would you really like to see me outside of school?"

"Yes," Qrow replied with raw conviction.

"Oh." Ozpin let the syllable stand, flushing pink again. "Then I would not mind your company. I'm not certain that you would find my outings particularly interesting. Bookstores, bakeries, coffee - "

The headmaster broke off the sentence, pink deepening. 

"I just don't wish to bore you."

Was Ozpin still that flustered over his impromptu meeting with Qrow at the café last year? Sure, the baristas had leant for a more...interesting public statement and definitely insinuated date, but Oz wouldn't have agreed to go out with Qrow again so readily if it was still a problem. He would avoid it more and -

_The other man._

He met him at Oz's coffee shop.

_Fuck._

Should Qrow supervise Ozpin on his outings more…? He sighed and shook his head, resigning his overactive thoughts to clingy PTSD. 

If there was such a thing. 

Maybe there was, when the man you are in love with is going on a date with another man.

Maybe it was jealousy?

_Whatever._

The bastard was going down regardless.

Qrow slumped back in his chair, finger interlocking beneath his chin, finally relinquishing the headmaster from his intense scrutiny.

"You never bore me, Ozpin. We can do all of those." 

_Every damn weekend if it will keep you with me,_ he finished mentally.

Ozpin managed a genuine smile.

"Thank you," he said. "Although I don't mind allowing you to pick an activity or two as well. Heaven forbid I become too old and set in my ways. How about you have the first choice? I'm usually free on Saturdays by noon; I'm at your service then on."

Qrow remained silent, immobile for a near minute, inappropriate thoughts flooding his mind, yet his common sense unwilling to come up for air.

Qrow had a date with the headmaster - whether Ozpin wanted to admit it or not.

"Sure. We can do something physical...like paint ball. Or if that's too much there's a videogame bar. We can see how good you are with your hands. But fair warning - I'm undefeated."

Then breaking into the gardens at night for a nice, secluded stroll. No one would be there after hours. Qrow would be free to -

Ozpin interrupted Qrow’s thoughts with a laugh. "Paintball!" he exclaimed, jolting Qrow to reality, startled by the headmaster's enthusiasm. "I can't say I've had the pleasure. Very well, I accept your unorthodox challenge. Paintball on Saturday."

Smoothing his proverbial feathers, Qrow stalled, absorbing what Ozpin had said, then grinned. "Great. Leave the night free in case we get ideas for more activities."

_I have a date with Oz._

"I will clear my day to be at your disposal," Ozpin said, chuckling. "Ferra would hardly believe me were I to tell her I was planning on playing paintball. I've never been, by the way, so I do hope you go easy on me."

"Nope. You like things rough, so I plan on giving it to you as hard as I can.”

"Hardly fair," Ozpin remarked playfully. "Nevertheless, I don't intend on surrendering without a good effort. Shall we meet here at noon? I suppose we could stop for lunch on our way."

"Done," the student said rising to leave. "And don't worry about your dinner date – ah. What do you call a dinner meeting that isn't business but isn't a date? Whatever, just don't worry about it. I'm sure people will get it since he's just a friend. It's not like he's gonna stare longingly at you from across the table while you blush ‘cause he's trying something under the table. That'd be a hell of scene at a nice restaurant.”

_I have a date with Oz!_ he repeated gleefully to combat any growing spite.

"Hope you have reservations to get in if the place is popular. See ya, Ozpin." Qrow waved over his shoulder as he headed to the elevator.

Behind him, the headmaster's expression slowly faded from cheerful to something less certain, eyebrows furrowing as the elevator doors closed on Qrow.

***

Ozpin stood outside of the Crystal Winery, obscured in the shadows of the trees that lined the restaurant, the lights within spilling out from stained glass windows, trailed by soft violin music. Despite the stillness of the evening, Ozpin's mind was a flurry of thoughts and hypotheticals and concerns and regrets.

It wasn't that Ozpin _disliked_ Coal Cheswick - rather the opposite. Cheswick was a charming man, all dark eyes and hair and easy smiles, the scent of espresso following him like a pleasant phantom. Ozpin found his tendency to blush and stammer charming, surprised but ultimately pleased that Ozpin still retained the ability to attract, and attract men as pleasant as Cheswick.

And yet.

Ozpin knew it was a date. He knew the moment Coal Cheswick stammered out the invite. He knew when he programmed his personal number into Cheswick's scroll.

He spent the entire week agonizing over that impulsive decision.

Ozpin didn't date. He didn't pursue romantic connections. He avoided them, dismissed or rebutted, segregated himself from all possibilities. He didn't necessarily enjoy being absolutely solitary, or celibate, or walking away from those who might make Ozpin happy in ways he didn't recall from past lives.

No, all these things were required of him, not from his position as headmaster - headmasters were hardly monks, after all - but his unspoken job, his reason for sending Huntsmen to the dark corners of the world. Romance, love, dating - it was dangerous for whomever was fool enough to associate with Ozpin.

And yet.

_I miss it,_ he thought.

_We all do,_ came the gentle reassurance from too many voices.

Ozpin sighed, straightening his black tie and jacket, finally stepping into the light. He did not enjoy the thought of turning Cheswick down, another disappointed face to which Ozpin would not be able to explain his reasons for rejection. He dreaded the night that would follow, replaying the scene again and again in his head as he tried in vain to sleep. He knew he could not go back to the little Vale cafe, where he had been treated so kindly. 

Most of all, he was nervous that he might enjoy Cheswick's company more than he wished to admit.

Ozpin entered the restaurant and gave his name to the host, immediately escorted to the back patio, where golden lights glowed softly overhead. And at the table furthest from the door -  
Coal Cheswick looked quite dapper, Ozpin realizing he had never seen the man out of a white apron. He was dressed in a gunmetal gray suit, a white rose pinned to his lapel, his dark hair combed in a polished wave to the side. Ozpin wondered if he had ever noticed the light streaks of silver that wove throughout his hair. 

Cheswick rose as Ozpin approached, offering a hand. Ozpin accepted the offer, the grip and touch lingering - Ozpin could not be sure if he or Cheswick held the shake for too long, but the headmaster was grateful that the patio was dim enough to obscure his blush. 

"Good evening, Coal," Ozpin said.

"Good evening," Cheswick said, his tone all eagerness, clearing his throat as though to subdue his emotions. Ozpin thought the zeal charming. "You look nice."

Another blush in the darkness. "Thank you," Ozpin said quietly. "This is a beautiful restaurant."

"Yes, I asked for their best table," Cheswick said proudly, almost immediately looking self-conscious about the statement. 

"That is a lovely gesture."

"Really?"

"Coal," Ozpin said patiently. "I appreciate your...censoring your enthusiasm, but it is unnecessary, I assure you. I'm here, and I'm happy to be here."

Was that true? Ozpin hardly knew if he was telling the truth or merely being polite, but he could not help but be pleased by the genuine grin that spread over Cheswick's face. The man really was rather attractive.

_Easy, old man._

Over the years, Ozpin's inner voice of reason had taken on Ferra's tones, and she spoke to him now, reminding him that there were a good number of reasons why Ozpin did not date. 

The rest of the voices within said nothing, too sad and pleased by the evening to object.

"Shall we begin with appetizers?" Cheswick asked. "I already ordered champagne. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Ozpin said. 

Cheswick hesitated with his next statement. "I...don't do a lot of going out," he said.

"Nor do I."

"I apologize in advance if I run out of things to say."

"You needn't fill silence for the sake of speaking," Ozpin said. "Some of my best conversations have been nonverbal."

Naturally, Qrow sprang suddenly to mind; the young man lent a new sense of confusion to Ozpin's thoughts.

They rarely said aloud what they really meant these days, each reading into the other what they wanted and could not have.

"Oh. Good."

As though to meet the expectations set by the professor, Cheswick said nothing more, meeting Ozpin's eyes with an intensity unlike his previous self-doubt.

Ozpin broke the gaze first.

"You're blushing."

The headmaster jerked his head back up in surprise at the remark.

The second blush followed.

"I - "

"It's cute," Cheswick said.

Ozpin resisted the urge to pull at his collar, the cool evening air suddenly too warm. He could not decide if the discomfort he felt at the compliment was truly discomfort, or if the flip of his stomach was indicative of something else entirely. 

"Thank you," the headmaster said, his voice quieter. He went silent when the waiter arrived with the champagne, turning his head to listen to the brief tasting notes –

And spotted Qrow Branwen out of the corner or his eye.

Ozpin turned to the other side of the patio, finding it empty, the couple and waiter the only souls present. The trees swayed in the breeze, casting lively shadows amongst the strung lights.

_A shadow. Of course._

"Ozpin?"

The professor looked back at his date, Cheswick raising his eyebrows at him.

"Oh. My apologies, I thought I saw..." Ozpin glanced behind him once more. "Never mind. Do continue."

"Their best champagne," Cheswick said, eyes alight. "There's an urban legend that says that a couple shares a bottle on their first date, it becomes true love." 

"Is - is that right," Ozpin said, trying - and failing - not to blush anew as the waiter poured.

And then, quite suddenly, beyond the hedges that kept the patio separate from the rest of the world, the very air seemed to explode.

A loud thud signaled the beginning of horns, blaring across amplifiers on the other side of the fence. Rainbow lights shot into the sky as the Mariachi band kicked up the volume to near deafening heights.

The waiter jumped so violently that he splashed champagne on Ozpin’s cuff, stammering an apology no one could hear. He placed the bottle on the table, hurrying to the balcony of the patio, leaning over to squint at the building next door. "I beg your pardon, gentlemen, the restaurant next door...seems to have a band..."

"Is that permitted?" Cheswick asked, raising his voice over the music. 

"No, I don't think - let me speak to the owner. In the meantime, please, take your glasses inside. The bottle is on the house for the inconvenience."

Ozpin followed Cheswick into the restaurant, settling in at the bar.

"Not the best start," Cheswick murmured.

"It's fine," Ozpin said, wringing out his cuff with a smile. "Just a touch of adventure."

"More than just a touch, I hope," Cheswick said, placing a hand atop Ozpin's on the bar.

The headmaster went scarlet, and yet he could not convince himself to pull away.

Again he considered how his last body had not been so prone to blushing; this host seemed impossible to avoid it.

"Here's your drink, sir," the bartender said sliding a tall neat whiskey to Ozpin. "Corsair, fifteen years."

The headmaster looked up in surprise at the drink he had not ordered, the scent of whiskey familiar - it was the same whiskey Ozpin drank every year with Qrow.

"I...I didn't..."

"I don't believe we ordered this," Cheswick said.

The bartender made his apologies and removed the drink, Ozpin's eyes following the whiskey, its removal somehow almost –

Sad.

"Perhaps we should have kept it," Cheswick said with a grin. "Something good to happen after a bit of bad luck."

_Bad luck._

It was impossible not to think of Qrow. 

Ozpin had already thought how much he was looking forward to his time out of the office tomorrow with the student; now Qrow's presence seemed to permeate even the date Ozpin had fallen into. He attempted to drive the thoughts away, but already the deeper parts of his mind had wandered, thinking on the hypotheticals of Qrow being on this date instead of the charming cafe owner. 

For not the first time that night, Ozpin wondered if there was something wrong with him.

He should focus on the handsome man in front of him who so clearly wanted to be with him, not on the much younger man who at times drove the headmaster to exasperation. 

Cheswick's reserved charm, or Qrow's brash bravado. Cheswick's eager smiles, or Qrow's clipped laughter. Cheswick's wavy gray highlights, or Qrow's -

It hardly mattered to compare the two. Cheswick was here and wanted to be here, with Ozpin, no smoke and mirrors regarding his romantic intentions. On paper, Cheswick was precisely the sort of man Ozpin was drawn toward, their reserved natures meshing well already despite the brevity of the date. Qrow, however...

Qrow was young. Very young. 

And a student. 

And Ozpin could never exactly tell what Qrow would do next.

The comments, almost innocent, unless one could hear the suggestive undertones. Ozpin recalled the dance lessons after the masquerade, how tightly Qrow had held him, how much Ozpin had enjoyed being in his arms, how aggressive Qrow had been in his steps, how Qrow had shocked Ozpin with a kiss at the end of the Mistral Tango and how desperately Ozpin had tried to convince himself he hadn't wanted exactly that.

Qrow Branwen was pure chemistry.

Everything else about him confused Ozpin.

Coal Cheswick did not confuse Ozpin.

The headmaster considered this as the men were greeted once more by their waiter, assurances made that they could return to their quiet, secluded table. If he chose to see Cheswick, was that a safe choice? A wise choice? 

He had more than half a mind to reject Cheswick for the man's own protection.

Ozpin was aware that was an excuse to wait for Qrow to make a more obvious move.

_Obvious. He’s_ been _obvious._

Ozpin would have to reject Qrow as well. He knew this. He had known it since his own heart began to fill his head with unwanted romantic tendencies. 

And yet Ozpin wanted Qrow to pursue him regardless.

But of course he had to reject him. Eventually. 

Didn’t he?

Was he naïve to want it to work out quite so desperately?

The headmaster was quite certain he would eventually go mad from the chaos in his head.

He would make no rash decisions tonight, he decided, sitting across from Cheswick again. Tonight he would drink champagne and enjoy his company and go to bed at a decent hour to consider his options in the sober light of morning.

Before Qrow showed up for their date.

_It’s not a date._

Qrow had not called it any such thing; he merely wanted to spend time with Ozpin outside of their usual environment.

Like Cheswick. 

_Hell._

"More champagne?" Cheswick asked.

"Please," Ozpin said quickly. 

"I know that you said you enjoy silence," his date said, refilling his own glass, "but you're...very silent."

"I'm sorry, I suppose I have a few things on my mind. The hazards of a workaholic."

"Workaholic?"

"I've been called something of the kind," Ozpin said, with half a smile. "Evidently it's frowned upon to work six days a week from dawn until dusk."

"Sounds like a good way to end up in a hospital." Cheswick chuckled, the sound dying quickly when he caught the expression on Ozpin's face. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Ah, no. Not exactly. I...well, I recently spent some time..."

"Oh god, you _were_ in the hospital," Cheswick said. "That's why you stopped coming into the cafe."

"I didn't mean to mention it," Ozpin said, shoving thoughts of Qrow in a backless hospital gown into the back of his mind. 

"No, I'm glad you did. Are you all right?"

The concern on Cheswick's face, in his voice, was somehow comforting.

"Yes, I'm quite recovered, I assure you."

"Perhaps you _shouldn't_ work so much..." Cheswick's tone was hesitant, as though he wanted to offer advise without overstepping. Charming caution at all times.

"It wasn't work - exactly," Ozpin said. 

He regretted the topic coming up; he didn't want to tell Cheswick he had reason to be on guard for his life nearly all the time. He didn't want to tell Cheswick they couldn't see each other because it would put the cafe owner in just as much danger. Ozpin couldn't stand watching Qrow suffer for him; Cheswick was not a Huntsman and therefore couldn't understand the risk he would be taking if he pursued Ozpin.

"I don't foresee the incident being repeated."

_Liar._

Cheswick nodded, not looking entirely convinced, but he let the matter drop politely. 

"So," Cheswick said, as the waiter arrived with their meals - and a second bottle of champagne. "The mysterious headmaster of Beacon. People say all sorts of rumors about you, but I don't think you're mysterious at all. I think you're just reserved."

_Wrong, wrong, wrong..._

Ozpin sighed.

"What exactly do headmasters do, anyway?"

"I don't imagine it's much different than running a cafe," Ozpin said. "There are the operations, finances, hiring of staff. I suppose we differ in that you welcome all with open arms; I am required to show more selectivity."

Cheswick seemed to accept this explanation, nodding as he bent over his dinner. "But you're also a Huntsman."

"I am, yes."

"That's exciting."

"I'm not certain that's the term I would use. It's...well, I'm not in the field often these days."

"Out of shape?" Cheswick asked, eyes laughing. "I could help you with that."

"I keep up through sparring - "

Ozpin caught the innuendo too late, his sentence collapsing under the implication, his face suddenly hot.

_Oh._

So Coal really did look at Ozpin in that manner.

Cheswick laughed. "I'm sorry for embarrassing you. It just seemed a pity to waste that opening."

Ozpin merely nodded, taking a long sip of champagne, distrustful of his own words. It was almost the sort of thing Qrow would say, but he wouldn't apologize for it; he would smirk, satisfied by the blush on his headmaster's face.

Why couldn't Ozpin keep from comparing them?

"Is it too forward of me to say I missed you?"

"Pardon?" Ozpin roused his attention back to the present. 

"When you were gone for so long. I know we don't know each other well, but..." Cheswick sighed. "I don't want to sound as though I spend all my Sundays pining for you to come in and eat my croissants."

"Even though you do?"

Now it was Cheswick's turn to blush, surprised by Ozpin's joking tone.

"Your barista seemed to think you should have asked me to dinner quite some time ago."

"Oh. You, ah, caught that, did you?"

"You two were hardly subtle," Ozpin remarked, chuckling.

Cheswick offered an embarrassed smile. "I admit the idea had been on my mind for a while. I just didn't want to bother you."

"I'm not bothered now."

Cheswick met Ozpin's gaze, his eyes straying only to flicker downward, resting ever so briefly on the professor's lips. Ozpin read the hint clearly; he had already debated his options should Cheswick try for a goodnight kiss, but he had not yet made a decision.

The quiet desire in Cheswick's eyes made it difficult to consider a rebuff.

The connection only lasted a moment more, the spell broken when a flash of black fell between them.

A black feather came to rest on the tablecloth.

Ozpin felt his throat tighten.

He didn’t look up for the bird he already knew was gone; somehow he knew exactly which bird in all of Vale had just flown over their table and he was resigned to it, to what he knew he wanted more than this evening had to offer.

He could not escape Qrow Branwen.

"The birds must be jealous," Cheswick said with a laugh.

_Were they?_

"Jealous?"

His date motioned to their plates. 

"Oh," the headmaster said. "Yes. Of course."

It was not an omen, exactly, but Ozpin knew whatever potential the evening had was gone with the appearance of that feather. His mind could no longer hold back the thoughts of Qrow that had plagued him, thinking on the next day when Ozpin would have Qrow to himself for an entire day, a day away from Beacon. Even if the student's intentions were perfectly innocent, Ozpin would be satisfied to be with Qrow, to share in his hobbies, to hear him laugh.

_You've got it bad, old man._

Ferra's voice echoed in his mind, distracting him from dinner conversations, prying at him when he tried to tell himself that simply being Qrow's friend was satisfaction enough, mocking him when the headmaster caught sight of a torn red tablecloth being replaced with one with pristine edges.

He turned his gaze back to Coal Cheswick, with the nice suit and perfect, pristine hair.

Ozpin restrained a quiet sigh.

From across the table, Cheswick sighed as well, a melancholy smile on his face.

"Would you like to skip dessert?" he asked.

Ozpin looked at him in surprise. "Isn't that why we came here?"

"I don't wish to keep you if you would prefer to go, Ozpin."

_Am I becoming so obvious?_

The headmaster felt his shoulders slump. "I'm sorry, Coal. I'm afraid I'm not terribly good company tonight."

"You don't have to spare my feelings. Sometimes these things don't work out."

"I rather wish it could," Ozpin said.

Cheswick nodded, giving an almost believably casual shrug. "Perhaps another time."

"I would like that."

"In the meantime, perhaps next Sunday?"

"I would very much like that," Ozpin said.

They rose together, synchronizing at last only when they had agreed to part. Despite their similarities, being with Cheswick took so much more energy than being with Qrow. 

Ozpin offered his hand, but Cheswick shook his head, chuckling. 

"I wanted it to work out a little too much," he said.

"I'm sorry, Coal."

"At least you don't offer platitudes."

"You don't need them."

"No." Cheswick gave the headmaster a small smile. "Then, if I may...?"

Ozpin leaned into the kiss, eyes closing for the brief moment it lasted, the sad little smile still on Cheswick's face when they parted.

_None of the electricity I feel with Qrow._

_You know why, Ozpin._

So that was that.

"Good night, Ozpin."

"Good night, Coal."

Ozpin left it there, entering the bright restaurant with the unspoken words behind him.

_Good night, Coal, and goodbye._

It was all for the best, after all.


	17. In which Qrow and Ozpin finally have their first date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But all I want  
> All I want  
> Is my fingers in your hair  
> And I'm tangled up as tightly as I dare  
> And I know you're just another life away  
> And they say if you want something bad enough you'll wait  
> But I'd hate to be wrong
> 
> So I tangle me in strings   
> 'cause I'm strung and on the way we're spiraling  
> I'm a cyclone and every revolution's confused  
> It's a shame that you seek resolution when I want to stay  
> Tied up  
> All tied up"
> 
> \- "Knots", Anna Nalick

Ozpin didn't set his usual Saturday alarm; his scroll trilled him awake at nine o'clock instead of six, groggily reaching to silence the offending device. 

He sat up in bed and rubbed tired eyes. Despite coming an early bedtime and a late alarm, he wasn't entirely certain how much he had slept. As expected, the headmaster had spent most of the night replaying the date that went awry, plagued with hypotheticals and _what-could-have-been's._

Of course, the date had gone well considering the alternatives. Ozpin didn't have to reject Cheswick outright; there had been no dramatic scene; he hadn't had too much champagne and made a tipsy mistake. 

No, it had gone as well as it could have. 

And still it replayed again and again in his head. 

A long, very hot shower and a very hot cup of coffee later found Ozpin back in his office, using the last few hours before Qrow's arrival to do some semblance of work, another method of keeping his personal life further from mind. 

He was entirely grateful that Qrow had suggested leaving Beacon - even better for something as unfamiliar as paintball. It would force Ozpin's attention elsewhere, until the date was a little more distant in memory. The professor was so desperate for a distraction that he didn't even consider his romantic feelings for Qrow to be a problem; he merely wanted to think about something other than Coal Cheswick.

A minute before noon, the elevators pinged and Qrow Branwen strolled into the headmaster's office clad neck down in tactical gear - ready for battle.

"You ready?" he said, beaming.

Ozpin stared for a long moment, hand hovering over an email on one monitor. 

"Am I supposed to be equally...armored?" the headmaster asked at last.

The young man shrugged, still smirking, "As long as you're in something you're prepared to show your battle wounds in."

Ozpin glanced down at his suit.

"Ah," he said. "I hadn't even thought - well. If you give me a moment to change..."

He keyed in the code to his apartment, slipping inside.

"I suppose I should assume this paint is unlikely to wash out of clothing?" the professor asked from the bedroom, opening his wardrobe.

Qrow followed Ozpin into the apartment.

"Here, try this," he said, tossing the man a neatly packaged tactical suit matching his own.

"Oh. Thank you." Ozpin examined the package in his hands. "At least one of us is prepared. If you'll excuse me..."

He slipped into the bathroom - unwilling for some reason to ask Qrow to step out of the room while he changed. A minute later, and the headmaster regarded his reflection in the mirror with some amount of skepticism.

"I look like I'm going to war," Ozpin said, emerging.

”You are," Qrow said, circling the man for a full view. He took his time ensuring each buckle was firmly clasped, fingers trailing each strap testing the security across the headmaster's body. "You look good. Ready to get your ass worked over?"

"I - I suppose," Ozpin said, managing to stammer a reply. The younger man's hands on him lent instant butterflies in the headmaster's stomach, each touch too practical, too brief.

In a moment he recalled all the comparisons of Qrow to Coal Cheswick; in a moment Ozpin began to doubt the wisdom of agreeing to spending more time alone with Qrow. But this date - or whatever this was - Ozpin did not want to leave early.

_Get a grip, old man._

Ferra's voice in his head shook him back to the present moment. 

As with his date with Coal, all the other voices remained maddeningly silent, their only contribution a soft, pleased buzz that vibrated more strongly when Qrow was near him.

"Shall we then?" Ozpin asked, painfully aware of Qrow's continued presence in his bedroom. 

The student stole one last survey of the headmaster in his new attire.

"How about a bet? Winner chooses where we go after.”

"Oh. Well, why not? Although I have a suspicion I will be at your mercy by the end of the day," Ozpin remarked. "I hope your plans aren't too hard for a man of advanced years."

Qrow's graveled chuckle permeated the room. 

Ominous? Perhaps. Amused? Certainly. 

The headmaster shifted, feeling as though he missed something.

"I've dreamed about having you at my mercy, Ozpin. All your _experience_ should come in handy when I get too hard for you."

The words lent immediate heat to the headmaster's face, the visuals called up by them too potent to block, nearly all of them involving the bed that resided so near to them.

_You're thinking like a hormonal teenager,_ he told himself, annoyed at the lack of support from the others in his head. 

_You agreed to this date, Ozpin,_ came Ozma’s voice, at last. _You can’t expect us – or Qrow – not to enjoy this._

"Ah, yes, well," the headmaster said, turning abruptly away. "I imagine many students would like the opportunity to earn some manner of revenge upon their professors."

He didn't allow for Qrow to say more, instead leading them from the sudden, shocking temptations of the bedroom into the safer haven of the outside world. 

Paintball would be good, Ozpin thought as they entered the elevator. An exercise to work out the aggressions that he suddenly couldn't repress. 

Even if he hadn't fired a gun of any sort in years, he presumed he hadn't entirely forgotten how. He took Qrow's bet suspecting his eventual loss, but knowing that Qrow likely had something else planned for the day. 

Ozpin was more than happy to let the student find ways to distract the headmaster.

They played five rounds - Qrow won one without contest, but only after he severely underestimated Ozpin's skill, taking three shots to the chest, forest green paint splattering across his body. The student had given his headmaster a look of mild astonishment, declaring with false bravado that Ozpin had only won because Qrow had gone easy on him.

"Then I suggest you show me what you can actually do," Ozpin had replied.

Qrow wiped sweat from his forehead, leaving a streak of green.

"You got it, old man," he said.

The third game was quick, Ozpin taking a flawless shot directly to the heart, bright red paint spilling like blood. The fourth ended when Qrow snuck up on the professor, landing a perfect shot to Ozpin's rear, collapsing in laughter afterward. 

The last games were little more than warfare, the two men taking so many shots it was almost impossible to denote a winner, calling them to an end when the couple emerged, utterly bathed in green and red paint, their weapons empty.

"You look ridiculous," Ozpin said, chuckling at Qrow.

"You should see the other guy," Qrow said, a grin breaking through his green-splattered face.

Ozpin laughed again. "Well, I must concede to your victories. What did you have in mind for the rest of the day? Something without a dress code, I hope."

"Then be disappointed. It's a nice restaurant.” Qrow chuckled, leading the way off the field. As he walked, he began shedding his combat gear, tossing it carelessly like a trail of green-splattered bread crumbs. "Come on, they have showers.”

Ozpin barely heard Qrow, his brain preoccupied with the implication of Qrow undressing, the sudden shock when skin appeared and kept appearing, until Qrow was undoing his pants, Ozpin’s eyes roving the contours of Qrow's lean body without thinking.

_Ozpin._

His gaze snapped up only when Qrow's words finally registered. "S-showers?" he repeated, glancing toward the building in question. 

"Shy?" Qrow teased, leading the way, shameless now in nothing more than a pair of black boxers. "Don't be. I reserved this field. It's just the two of us."

_That is hardly better,_ Ozpin thought, his eyes once again moving over Qrow's body of their own accord. The headmaster heard himself swallow, following the student across the field. Already Ozpin was wondering if he would give himself away - the confusion he felt when he was with Qrow and the easy familiarity was eclipsed by the strong emotions that welled up with a physical touch - or in this case, quite, _quite_ a lot of skin.

Ozpin clenched his hands, unable to resist thinking what it would be like to run his hands down the muscles of Qrow's back, the hardness of his shoulder blades giving way to the curve of his spine, down to his _very_ nice – 

Oh yes, a shower right now was an absolutely awful idea.

In the communal shower, the partitions between the stalls were nearly nonexistent - a mere hip height bit of stone segregating each section.

Ozpin regarded them miserably. 

_This is an enormous mistake._

Somewhere far away, below the pounding of blood in his ears, Ozpin heard Ozma laugh quietly.

***

Qrow lead the headmaster the stall adjacent to his own, dropping the last of his clothing in one swift pull before flipping his water to near-freezing temperatures, immediately submerging himself in the icy caresses. His muscles twitched and protested, flexing viciously under the assault.

But it was the only way. 

The only way for him to remain this close to Ozpin without doing what he had dreamed about, what he had craved with every fiber of his being, and what he knew - ultimately - he would regret because the headmaster would turn him away and leave.

And so.

Fucking ice bath.

Qrow ran his hand through his hair, soaping quickly, yet taking his time rinsing off despite the chilling temperatures threatening to make him shiver. Qrow clenched his jaw tighter, hearing the shower beside his start.

Ozpin. 

In the shower.

He wanted to look.

He _needed_ to look.

He’d regret either decision.

***

Ozpin couldn't face Qrow. He had turned away the moment the student fully undressed, the headmaster hesitating when unclasping the fastenings on his own gear.

He kept the shower cold, shivering as the chill water washed pale red paint from his hair. 

_Don't look at Qrow._

Ozpin usually took his time in showers, the water so hot it threatened to scald; but now, with the flurry of inappropriate thoughts regarding the student beside him -

Ozpin turned the water even colder.

***

Qrow cursed under his breath, but regretted nothing from the stolen glance, his nether regions threatening to jump to life. Drowning the thoughts flooding into his mind under the icy curtain, Qrow fought to regain control of the body that insisted on betraying him.

Instead, Qrow's eyes tempted fate stealing another glance - this time longer - of Ozpin's milky white skin turning somehow paler under the cool water; the fluff of his hair compressed, darkened, eyes closed as he rinsed red paint from his face, down his arms, shoulders, along the curves of his back to –

_Fuck fuck fuck -_

Ozpin had one hell of a nice ass. White, round, the size that would leave some to spill out when you took a handful – 

_Fucking perfect._

Qrow studied each curve, wishing more than anything to explore them first-hand, cursing incoherently in his head. He looked down at himself, his groin unable to be concealed.

Qrow slammed off the water more aggressively than intended, the noise thankfully drowned out by the rush of the headmaster's shower. Immediately, Qrow bound his lower half in a towel tight enough to snuff any further temptations.

"You like cold showers too?" he asked offhandedly stepping onto the rubber matted entry to the showers.

***

The sharp shut-off of the water made Ozpin jump, eyes darting to Qrow - _keep them up, old man_ \- the younger man tying a towel around his slim waist.

Ozpin was horrified by the wash of disappointment he felt from the presence of that towel.  
He turned off the cold water and reached for his own towel.

"Quite the opposite," the headmaster said, grateful for the protection the towel gave him. "But after a bit of exercise, the cold is good for your muscles..."

He was certain that wasn’t true, but it was as good an excuse as any. It would do for now, to shield the professor from the severe tension he felt between them. 

Or maybe he was the only one of them that felt the tension, so potent that it seeped into every thought, convincing him that Qrow's flirtatious nature meant more than his usual playfulness. 

Ozpin was his friend and mentor. Nothing more.

The thought was almost more disappointing than Qrow wearing the towel.

"Oh," the headmaster said suddenly. "I didn't think to bring anything to change into..."

_Perhaps we could go without._

Ozpin suppressed a miserable groan, wishing now that Ozma had opted to remain silent today.

***

"I've got ya," Qrow said, tossing the headmaster a package of clothing for the second time in one day.

Again, his eyes lingered – to the definition of Ozpin’s bare chest, the pale unmarked skin, wondering how livid the marks would be if Qrow dragged his nails down it.

Again, he forced himself to turn away in favor of the grooming mirrors nearby, looking for a distraction.

He found one in his hair.

"Shit," the young man cursed, noting the green streaks spilling from the contours of his ears and hairline. "Guess I missed some. Did you - ?" he began, but frowned.

Ozpin looked up from dressing, all silver hair and white skin and white towel.

No, of course not. Ozpin was perfect.

_Stupid sentimental idiot._

Qrow didn't need to look for reasons to touch the man who was unfortunately on the do-not-touch list for a few more weeks.

And. The. Wait. Was. _Killing._ Qrow.

The young man sighed returning to his mirror, then turning his gaze to his towel.

Next riddle: _how to wipe your face without flashing a raging erection at your headmaster?_

"Let me," Ozpin said, using his towel to wipe the paint from Qrow's hair, gentle brushes that the Qrow swore to himself was perfectly innocent.

The towel smelled too good. Qrow's eyes intensely searched Ozpin's for only a moment before fluttering shut, the young man inhaling deeply, taking in the headmaster's scent. The student's head tilted to the side, nuzzling into the familiar hand that had stroked him for so many years in his other form. 

A hand he wished would never stop.

Ozpin chuckled.

"It's a shame," he said. "I like the green. Much better than going gray."

Qrow laughed, leaning further into the gentle hand stroking him, unwilling to break the contact regardless of how selfish his motives were.

But the soft pull at his ear more than broke his concentration in his dreamlike state.

"Ah - !" he gasped. 

Ozpin had merely wiped the young man's ear clean of paint.

And yet.

Qrow had never realized this was a weakness of his, the tug of his ear rippling through his muscles, his gut fluttering with want.

Crimson eyes opened once again, focusing on the man before him - an unmistakable hunger burning deep within. Qrow wanted nothing more than to take Ozpin right here and now against the mirror beside them.

_And yet._

"Thanks," he said softly, contradicting the desire in his eyes.

***

The look in Qrow's eyes was intense - too intense for even Ozpin to ignore. He took a step backward, lowering the towel slowly. What was that look? Not anger, nor pain - it was something else, something Ozpin was meant to see, to read as he read all of Qrow's other emotions with a glance.

For a long moment, Ozpin held the stare, feeling the blush creep up his cheeks.

Qrow’s eyes flickered down, lips turning upward into a smirk.

_So we understand each other._

Ozpin turned away quickly. "I think that's all. Shall we go to dinner?"

Qrow nodded, then dressed, his back to Ozpin.

Just as quickly, Qrow’s walls were back up.

The headmaster sighed quietly.

_This is a mess._

_This is just dinner._

_Well…I can manage dinner with him._

Ozpin adjusted his tie in the mirror, watching Qrow wiggle into a black suit jacket. Ozpin had never seen him in a suit before, and he wondered if he would have to tie Qrow’s tie for him.

The thought was rather charming. 

"How do I look?" Qrow turned and gestured with arms wide open, turning about for a complete view, charcoal shirt under a blood red tie. "And it better be 'perfect' because it was a bitch to get."

_Oh dear._

For some reason, the suit made Ozpin blush more than seeing the student in a towel. Qrow looked entirely _too_ good. 

"Oh. Yes, well. I can't find a reason not to say 'perfect.' It's very becoming, Qrow."

The student grinned. "Good, because it's the last time I go to a tailor. Too many hands pulling me in every direction - pass."

_Hands pulling -_

Ozpin's flush deepened; he watched his cheeks turn pink in the mirror. 

"O-oh," the headmaster stammered. "Yes, it can be an invasive experience, if one isn't prepared..."

Qrow smirked, and Ozpin blushed again. 

Every interaction with Qrow now felt like the pull of a thousand magnets, the resistance exhausting and uncomfortable. Being together, being near him, letting him say all the awful things he wanted to say –

It felt right.

Which was all the more reason Ozpin had to convince himself that – for now – it was wrong.

"Come on, we gotta go if we're gonna make the reservations."

"Reservations? I'm surprised you know how to make them."

"Hey, I clean up good!" Qrow said, motioning to his suit. "And you look good dirty."

The professor stumbled on the exit steps, his face on fire. "Oh, ah...thank you. Is the restaurant nearby?"

"Bit of a walk, but it's nice weather. Do you mind?"

Ozpin had no real objections, enjoying the idea of a quiet walk through town, in a new suit that fit very well - considering Qrow didn't necessarily have Ozpin's measurements.

The headmaster tried very hard not to think about that.

He thought back to the look Qrow gave him in front of the mirror. What exactly had that meant? All his reason spoke against such a match, even when the rest of him longed for another kiss like those after the Mistral Tango. 

Ozpin decided, as the two walked in comfortable silence, that he should begin to pay more attention to how Qrow looked at him. 

If Ozpin had a confidante – 

Ferra?

No, of course not.

Not that he hadn’t already. She knew more than she let on, likely already connecting his lovesick behavior with Qrow’s presence. She had every right to lecture him for being a hypocrite, for firing a professor for the very same thing Ozpin had fallen into now.

_You’re not Lesca,_ came the reassurance from Ozma. _You know you’re a better man than that._

_Am I?_ Ozpin thought, half-miserable by the comparison. _What makes this different?_

_It’s different because you love –_

"Here we are," Qrow said proudly, breaking into Ozpin's thoughts. "Pulled some strings to get us in, but I hear it's worth it."

Ozpin glanced up, hardly noticing where he had been stepping, finding a very familiar restaurant before him.

"The Crystal Winery?" he stammered. "Oh. Oh dear."

Ozpin had nearly forgotten about Coal Cheswick, but now the memories of the precious night flooded back. 

"It's quite good," the headmaster managed to say.

"Been here before?"

"Last night, as a matter of fact."

"Really? Well, we don't have to stay - "

"No, I would like to," Ozpin interjected. "The evening...was not entirely pleasant. I would like to associate this place with better memories."

"Done," Qrow said confidently. 

After being seated, the two pretended to stare at the menu far too long instead of each other - Qrow insisting on ordering drinks before food. Once their orders were taken and drinks delivered, the men settled into a relaxed silence.

"So what made your evening suck?" Qrow asked, sipping his neat whiskey.

"It didn't _suck,"_ Ozpin protested. "It was actually - at times - rather nice. You're right. I don't get out much." 

He swirled his whiskey before taking a sip. 

"I think he...wanted different things than I did. It took the evening for me to come to that realization."

"Can I give you what you want?"

Ozpin coughed on his drink, the blush rising without warning. 

_Yes, please -_

"I - it's not quite that simple. I...have had a lot to consider as of late."

The young man shrugged. "Well if I can give it to you, I'll do it. Gotta make sure we don't ruin my dazzling reputation." 

_You’d like him to give it to you._

_OZMA._

Qrow paused to reconsider his words. "Then again, I've been told I'm pretty good at sucking," he said, smirking into his drink.

Another flush of fire, another cough, Ozpin unable to push back the violently vivid visual that came to mind, Qrow kneeling before the headmaster –

Ozma said nothing, but his satisfaction buzzed in Ozpin’s ears.

Ozpin gave a laugh that sounded restrained and nervous even to himself. 

"You...do have quite the reputation," the professor said slowly. 

Qrow laughed, his far more relaxed. "What have you heard?"

Ozpin blinked, not expecting the question. "That you're something of a ladykiller, I suppose..."

"Damn right," Qrow laughed, passing the time by swirling his glass. "...but truthfully I haven't been too active with the ladies since Calico."

"Right." The headmaster had not completely forgotten Qrow's old girlfriend, but now the name called up something dark.

Envy.

_Bloody hell, am I that deep in this?_

"I suppose that's natural," Ozpin said. "A breakup can cause those sorts of effects. You have seemed more yourself this year. I'm glad for that."

"Yeah, well…I guess I found who I was really interested in." 

Qrow locked eyes with Ozpin.

The expression on Qrow's face was unmistakable; Ozpin had the sudden realization that he hadn't imagined a thing, that Qrow was trying to tell Ozpin he felt the same way. The realization came with a flip of the headmaster's stomach, his glass hitting the table with almost enough force to nearly spill his whiskey.

"O-oh," Ozpin stammered, breaking the eye contact to stabilize his drink. "Yes, that is important, and can help one focus on what should be prioritized."

"Yeah...him."

The heat that rose under Ozpin's collar was enough to cause the headmaster to pull at his tie.

_Him._

"Oh," the professor said, eyes on his whiskey. 

_Don't ask the question. Don't._

"Someone new, then?" 

"Someone I've known for years."

"Oh," Ozpin said again. The questions rose up in his throat but he couldn't ask them; it was too forward, too much. "I...I'm glad you have someone who may make you happy. Do you believe he is interested?"

"I'm bettin' so," Qrow said.

"That...that's good," Ozpin said, drinking half of his whiskey quickly. "I hope it works out." 

He hesitated another moment. "Have you asked him out yet?"

"Yep."

Ozpin resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. "And he said...?"

"He had 'no objections.'"

The glass clattered on the table again. 

Hadn't Ozpin said exactly the same thing? 

The professor couldn't trust his memory. Did that make this a date? Were they not in formalwear, at a restaurant, having drinks together? Was that not a date? Two people attracted to one another, spending their free time together - was that not reason to pursue that person?

The objections rose up in Ozpin's head but the headmaster cast them away. Despite the discomfort of Qrow's attentions, the professor wanted them; he wanted non-vague confirmations that Qrow was talking about Ozpin.

In the meantime, Ozpin just wanted to remain in Qrow's company. 

"Good," Ozpin said, his voice regaining confidence. "I want you to be happy, Qrow, no matter what that entails."

Qrow laughed. "It means I'll get some at the end of the school year."

_What did_ that _mean?_

It meant exactly what Qrow said.

Of course Ozpin would not become involved with Qrow when the young man was a student. 

But would he when Qrow graduated? It was so very, _very_ tempting to consider.

He tried very hard not to think about Qrow in the shower.

"I see," Ozpin said, noncommittally, forcing an evenness into his voice. "I wish you luck then. By the way, I am required to stay for dessert. I've been told the strawberry souffle is a must." 

He paused, words rising to his tongue that he knew were unwise.

"And that if we share the house champagne, it will result in true love."

"Then bust out the bubbly!" Qrow said enthusiastically.

Ozpin let out a long, unsteady breath, relief washing over him.

_He does love me,_ Ozpin thought, feeling drunk off the thought. _He’s all but telling me now._

_He does. If you would let him._

Ozpin couldn't help but laugh; the energetic statement lent confidence to how how Ozpin's irrational emotions may be returned. Suddenly everything was quite lovely, and the idea of sharing dessert and champagne with Qrow was the loveliest thing in the world.

"I would like that," the headmaster said. "Very much. So let's talk about pleasant things, please. I think I need a pleasant evening with a dear fri - with someone I care about."

This dinner - so similar to the previous night in so many aspects - had none of the tension Ozpin had felt with Coal Cheswick. Of course that was due in part to how well Ozpin knew Qrow compared to his occasional coffee break companion, but there was also the matter of how _much_ Ozpin wanted to know Qrow - he could not easily say the same about Cheswick.

Dinner conversation flowed easily now, Qrow able to make Ozpin laugh like no one else could, no repeats of the headmaster's quiet hesitations or daydreaming. With Qrow, he felt fully present.

"That's the last of the champagne," Qrow said, tipping the bottle into Ozpin's glass. 

"Oh dear," the professor laughed. "We were supposed to pair it with dessert."

"Another round then," Qrow said, waving the waiter forward. "Keep them coming."

"Really now," Ozpin protested. "I don't consider myself a lightweight, but I'm not sure..."

"You don't have to work tomorrow," the student said, dismissing the waiter with the order. "So have a drink."

Again, the smile and easy confidence of his date made the suggestion all the more appealing. 

"Ah - why not?" Ozpin said, shrugging as the waiter returned with another bottle, and the long-promised strawberry souffle arriving simultaneously. 

Dessert was just as good as described, Qrow watching in amusement when Ozpin almost melted into his chair after the first bite. He only asked how it was, chuckling when Ozpin could only shake his head and motion with his fork.

"This is dangerous," the headmaster said, after finishing another glass of champagne - he had lost count some time ago. "I shouldn't tell you this, but I imagine you could deduce it last year - champagne is a bit of a weakness."

"Oh?" Qrow asked, his tone all false innocence.

Ozpin chuckled. "Come now, you remember the Vytal Festival much better than me.”

Qrow laughed. “You were fun. Talkative, for you.”

Ozpin watched with idle eyes as Qrow refilled his class. "The bubbles make me happy."

Qrow grinned. "Then let's see how happy I can make you."

Ozpin obliged the comment with another sip and a faint blush.

Somehow the one extra bottle turned into two, Qrow refilling the headmaster's glass with a silent grin, coaxing conversation from Ozpin as much as he could, and Ozpin felt the warmth of bubbly intoxication encouraging him. He didn't feel restrained before Qrow, talking about books and local restaurants and Ozpin's guiltiest pleasure desserts; Qrow listened to it all, nodding as though it was the most interesting conversation he had heard, speaking only to offer witty commentary or puns, or to suggest a future visit to one of the places Ozpin mentioned. 

Only after the bill was settled and the two men rose from their chair did Ozpin realize the extent of Qrow's generous pours, stumbling at the abrupt movement of the floor. 

"Easy," Qrow said, catching the professor by the arm. "Heh. Bit off, are you?"

"And whose fault is that?" Ozpin retorted playfully. He leaned into Qrow, placing a hand over the young man's to steady himself - nothing more. 

Certainly not to feel Qrow's fingers intertwine with his own. 

Qrow wrapped his arm around Ozpin's waist, expertly securing him against the young man as he had done countless times during dance lessons. His strong arm shifted the headmaster's weight against Qrow, their bodies leaning together, but contrary to the young man's nature, not in an obscene manner. 

Ozpin almost wished for one of Qrow’s hands to drift somewhere untoward. 

Together, the men maneuvered the intricate table design to exit the restaurant, the cooling night air washing over both once outside.

_When had that happened?_

It was midafternoon at their arrival. 

"Got one more date destination," Qrow announced, guiding the older man down the paved sidewalk.

"Oh?" Ozpin said, glancing toward the twilight sky. The air was remarkably fresh, the arm around his waist quite comfortable. Everything, in fact, felt very nice indeed.

The headmaster gave a little laugh, almost missing a step. "You called it a _date,"_ he teased. "Well. It's been a better one than last night."

Qrow laughed to himself. "That's good. We should do this more often. You need to enjoy more down time. How's Golden Gardens sound?"

Golden Gardens - Vale's most famous stroll for couples. By day, the flowers reflected the sun's rays illuminating the entire garden as if everything the light touched were made of gold - by night, they sparkled by moonlight. Two years ago, the city erected a gate protecting the gardens from thieves, and it now lay protected after hours.

"I haven't been in years," Ozpin remarked. "It sounds perfectly lovely."

The implications of the conversation would have given Ozpin pause if he was sober - isolated, romantic gardens, Qrow calling this a date in a manner that denoted seriousness - but with champagne bubbling so cheerfully inside him, the headmaster found everything a good idea, if it kept Qrow near him. 

Again, the younger man laughed, guiding Ozpin down the sidewalk until the road opened to an old cobblestone path. 

"Watch your step," Qrow warned of the uneven footing, which of course meant the young man needed to support the older through their stroll.

"I was never allowed in places like this," he offered, seemingly out of the blue.

"Why ever not?" Ozpin asked, looking at the student in surprise. "Certainly, you have your moments of destruction, property damage...vandalism..."

“Not painting me in a great light here, Oz.”

The headmaster chuckled. "Well. Perhaps these sorts of places aren't quite as robust as Beacon."

Qrow joined in the headmaster's amusement. "Not really. The first time I saw it was a night flight. I almost ran into a tree ‘cause I couldn't stop starin'."

“You poor thing," Ozpin said, unable to keep from snickering. "But flying at night? It's bad enough with your habits of flying while intoxicated."

The professor stumbled, catching onto Qrow's arm with another laugh. "Not that I'm one to speak of decisions made while intoxicated."

"This seems like a good one," Qrow said, nodding to the vast opening of softly glittering golden fields. Qrow paused their pace, the young man's focus stolen by the sight.

For a moment Ozpin took it in, tipsily thinking that it _was_ a shame he did not get out more often, that for all his attempts to protect the world, he rarely saw any of it beyond what was outside the windows of the clock tower.

Qrow looked very beautiful in the soft light, like his very self was made soft by it.

"It might be up to you to keep me from doin' anything bad," Qrow confessed.

"Oh?" Ozpin said, distracted by the glowing view. "I don't know if I'm very good at keeping you from misbehaving," the headmaster said after a pause, glancing at how the glow lit up the details of Qrow's face, making his eyes more darkly red. "I think I rather stopped trying over the years."

The young man smirked - that perfectly playful, perfectly mischievous, perfectly troublesome, perfectly irresistible smirk.

"You sayin' you're at my mercy, Ozpin?" His voice came deep, that specific tone that made Ozpin shiver. 

"I - I wouldn't go that far," Ozpin said, his stomach flipping as though a very large champagne bubble had burst. Qrow's smirk was almost predatory, the realization that he and the headmaster were utterly alone in the illuminated gardens causing Ozpin a moment of nervousness. His brain told him to take a step back, another order to press closer to the student, the debate never ending. Instead, the professor remained where he was, poignantly aware of where his body was in contact with Qrow's.

"How far would you go?"

_Oh hell._

Ozpin tore his eyes from Qrow's face, turning his gaze instead on the safer view of the scenery. He needed an equally safe response, one that would tame the blush creeping up his neck.

"I would say," the headmaster began slowly, choosing tipsy words with care, "that I _allow_ your troublemaking."

Qrow studied Ozpin for what seemed like an eternity, the younger man's brow furrowing as he searched for some unknown silent communication from the headmaster.

Then he smiled, adding confidently, "You like what I do." 

Qrow nudged, then guided the older man along the path. "Come on, we need to see all the shiny before a guard catches a drunk headmaster with a delinquent breaking and entering," he said, reminding Ozpin of his current predicament. 

"I think I should be concerned with the fact we're not here with permission," Ozpin said, following the student's lead, "but somehow I have the utmost confidence in your ability to keep me from trouble. Well. From being caught. It is quite the sight, however," the professor said, eyes trailing along their path. "Thank you for bringing me here."

Qrow nodded. "No one gets to see this anymore. It's about time someone did. Out in the wild you'd be able to walk through fields like this whenever you wanted. But we throw up walls to protect us from Grimm. Just sucks that we have to throw up more walls to protect things from us...but humans are predators too."

"Sadly, that's true," Ozpin said quietly. "It may be a trait of mankind that cannot be completely redeemed, but I spend my life and the next attempting it regardless." 

"I'm a predator, Oz. Do I need redeeming?"

The question broke the philosophical musings of the headmaster, Ozpin turning surprised eyes toward his student.

"You..? I think 'predator' is a bit strong, isn't it...?"

Even as he asked, Ozpin knew the answer. Qrow was a predator, even when he didn't intend to be, his Semblance lurking behind even the best intentions.

"One does not need redemption for actions beyond one's control," the professor said quietly.

"'It's in his nature, so it's okay?'"

"It's not your -" Ozpin hesitated under Qrow's intense stare. "It's your Semblance, not your nature. Your nature would choose to cast off the bad luck, would it not? That is the judgment of a man, Qrow."

Qrow laughed, a tinge of spite biting at the edges. "Do you blame everything bad I do on my Semblance?"

"No," Ozpin said. "I think you're stronger than your Semblance. You demonstrate that every day."

"What about when I want to be bad?" the student's voice deepened, his crimson eyes reflecting the golden shimmer of the garden when he locked eyes with the headmaster.

There was heavy meaning in the words, something Ozpin was meant to understand. The student broke the gaze first, eyes traveling down the professor's throat. Ozpin closed his own eyes, feeling the stare like a physical touch.

"I think...all men suffer from those urges now and again," he said softly. 

"You included, Professor?"

The nearness of Qrow's voice, the sensation of a warm breath upon him, made Ozpin's intoxicated blood rise; he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes but he could not be certain whether that was to prevent temptation or heighten it. 

"Especially myself," Ozpin murmured. 

"Especially now?"

Every one of Ozpin's muscles tensed. The evening had cooled but felt warm spent beside Qrow in the growing darkness, the very air electric, scented like roses and orchids and the masculine smell Qrow carried with him. 

Being this near Coal Cheswick last night had not undone Ozpin so thoroughly. 

No one did but Qrow. 

The headmaster tried to recall if he had ever felt something this intense in a past life, but the memories were suddenly hazy, champagne-tinted, drunk from the surge of chemicals Qrow elicited from him.

He opened his eyes at last and the close-up of Qrow's face before his own was enough to create a wave down his throat, into his stomach - anticipation, desire, frustration -

"Especially now," Ozpin heard himself say, as though very far from his own actions. 

Qrow leaned in, Ozpin able to feel the young man's breath on his lips and -

A rustle behind the men pulled Qrow's attention from the headmaster, his gaze shifting from desire to death. A flashlight danced among the trees at the garden entrance.

Qrow cursed, grabbing Ozpin's hand and then they were running, Qrow guiding him to a hidden alcove.

"They're early!" the young man hissed, banging his head against the rock shelter and growling.

The headmaster's head spun with the shift of the mood; he could clearly feel the presence of the night guards now, but a moment ago they may as well have been ghosts, Ozpin blind to anything but –

"It's fine," Ozpin whispered, peering around the alcove wall, studying the direction of the men's movements. 

The fade of adrenaline led rise to disappointment, Ozpin wondering just how close Qrow had been to kissing him. 

Ozpin knew he would not have stopped him.

The guards flashed a light in their direction and the headmaster pulled back. 

_This is dangerous._

Not the guards - Ozpin was not concerned with security as a Huntsman, but the very loose boundaries the professor discovered after a few glasses of champagne and Qrow's insufferable, teasing low tones. He was still a student, and Ozpin his professor. No matter the temptation - and there were so many - Ozpin had to shake them off and behave like the mentor he was. 

He sighed, feeling the darkness of that thought rise within him. It was as though he had broken his own heart with the thought, if Ozpin was inclined to think in such sentimental ways. 

Reluctantly, Ozpin turned back to the student. "Perhaps we should go," he said.

Qrow failed in every manner to hid his shock and disappointment. He braced an arm against the boulder blocking Ozpin from the guards as if barring them from sight could retract the disruption, could salvage the moment.

"Can't take the heat?" he asked almost playfully, but wholly sorrowfully. 

Another flip of Ozpin's stomach despite his more sobering reservations. Even now with his ethical barriers rebuilt, Qrow's closeness confused him, his principles bombarded with questions of _Why not? Why not?_

"I don't know if my heart can take same strains that yours can," the headmaster said, managing a small smile. 

"The heart is a muscle, Ozpin. It's good to work it out and see how much it can take..." Qrow trailed off, eyes moving down Ozpin’s body.

_I want to take it all._

The thought was so loud it was almost startling; Ozpin flushed under the combined weight of it and Qrow's unsubtle study of him, his heartbeat pounding against his chest. He wondered if Qrow could hear it, if Qrow knew how he affected Ozpin -

Of course Qrow knew. 

Qrow knew everything about Ozpin. Even Ozpin had to admit that the two men were lovers in every sense of the word but the most obvious.

Under the heavy scrutiny and nearness of Qrow, Ozpin ached for the obvious.

"It's been a long time," he whispered, "since my heart has had that manner of exercise..."

"Then lemme test it for you," Qrow said, returning the whisper.

"I - I shouldn't," Ozpin said, and yet his eyes flickered down to Qrow's lips of their own accord. His sober protests still sounded in the back of his mind, but dimmer under the hammering of his heart. He couldn't remember exactly what it was he shouldn't do, but the spoken word hardly mattered with Qrow. With him, everything was in the red eyes, the subtlest smirk of his lips, the turn of his shoulders to square against Ozpin, the headmaster taking an involuntary step backward, only to find his back against the alcove wall.

_A rock and a hard place._

As if sensing the irony, Qrow's eyes danced a shade darker in the ocean-like waves of light of the glowing flowers around them.

"My heart aside," the headmaster murmured, unable to break free of that stare, of the nearness of Qrow’s mouth, "it's been a lovely date..."

"Dates end with kisses, Ozpin," Qrow said, his voice husky, and then he captured Ozpin’s lips, a hard press that became a motion of his entire body, pressing Ozpin against the wall until he couldn’t breathe.

At once, everything and nothing made sense; the entire world devolved into the contact of Qrow's mouth against his, the feel of the cold stone at Ozpin's back and the heat of the man against him. Blood raced to life, the headmaster unable to keep from pressing his lips back with a fevered, intoxicated need.

Somehow his hands were around Qrow, his body wholly separate from his mind now, wanting Qrow's arms in return, wanting so much of Qrow in return, escape both impossible and unwanted. 

Qrow too pulled his partner closer, enveloping the man in his grasp, his hands moving upward until his fingers entwined in Ozpin’s hair, pulling slightly, the headmaster making a noise of surprise that was just as quickly swallowed by Qrow.

_Lust._

It was something Ozpin had not truly known for years, lives, his existence made distant by every effort. But Qrow broke those walls, those rules, until Ozpin had nothing left to offer but himself, his body desperately eager for Qrow’s touch -

"Thieves! Don't move!"

The harsh beam of a flashlight broke into the warm darkness.

Qrow released Ozpin from his grasp, cursing violently.

"Shit. Run," he urged, pulling the older man upright. 

Ozpin blinked in the light, everything happening too fast.

"Run," Qrow urged again, pushing Ozpin along in front of him, shadowing him so as to protect him from the guard.

Ozpin ran. 

He was surprised by his own ability to recall their route, listening to the sounds of Qrow's steps and panting breath behind him, followed by the student's dark laughter. By the time they reached the gates of the gardens Ozpin was laughing as well, chuckles made weak from their exercise, the two men slowing only after reaching a solid block from the entrance.

"That was...exciting," the professor said, breathless.

"Welcome to the life of delinquency," Qrow said, bowing.

"Somehow I don't think Ferra will approve," Ozpin said, with another laugh. "If only it wasn't so much fun to disappoint her."

"Nah, she'll be fine. She likes me hanging out with you so you can't work yourself to death," Qrow replied.

"I would be pleased if she liked anything about you these days," Ozpin said, straightening his coat, dusting the faint glow of luminescent pollen from his sleeves. "Considering that she has not always been your biggest fan."

He took a long breath to even his lungs, blood still running too quickly after the chase and the unexpected but not unexpected kiss. He knew he should regret it, or object to it, or not want more, but instead all he felt was a sort of youthful giddiness, a happiness that felt wholly foreign.

"Perhaps it is best we were so kindly escorted from the premises," the headmaster said. "It is rather later than I thought..."

"Alright, old man," Qrow chuckled, "let's get you home."

Ozpin allowed Qrow to pull him forward, their laughter fading into comfortable silence, Qrow neglecting to release the headmaster's hand as they walked home and Ozpin not withdrawing. As always, the conversation they had now in silence was more important than all the others that day, more important than the books Ozpin mentioned or the coffee shops Qrow offered to take them to.

They had both spoken without words how they regarded the other, the need for physical touch - even an innocent holding of hands - a confirmation of those feelings. The morning would bring the dawn and Ozpin's complete sobriety and the complications thereof; the headmaster would reflect back on the evening in confusion and fractured morality, torn by what was right and what was _right,_ and spend entirely too long agonizing over what - in the presence of champagne and a dreamlike garden stroll - seemed like such a simple decision. 

But now, Ozpin contented himself with intertwining his fingers into those of his student, letting the cares of tomorrow continue to sleep, at least for a few more hours.

There was the inevitable pause in the Beacon courtyard, before the two men reached the campus proper, the faint green glow of the clock tower lighting the way, both stopping at the metaphorical threshold to their former lives, the lives that somehow felt distinctly different than tonight. Qrow tightened his grip on Ozpin's hand, using that strength to spin the headmaster toward him into an embrace. 

"I had fun," he murmured into Ozpin's ear, as though it were a great secret. With a brief, chaste kiss on the cheek, he released the headmaster, fingers untangling from Ozpin's, lingering over his palm more than necessary. 

With a whispered _good night_ , Qrow was gone, a black shape against a dark sky, the fluttering of wings left behind. 

His absence lent immediate emptiness to the courtyard, Ozpin shaking himself back to reality with some effort, taking a very long time to make the short walk back to the tower, preferring to keep the night alive for as long as he could before his mind could find reason to look back with regret.


	18. In which Ozpin gives in, at least in dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You can blow off  
> All your dark desires  
> You can tell yourself you tried  
> Fortune cookies  
> Will always take your side  
> But you will crumble from the lie  
> Desire won't die"
> 
> \- "Desire", Sacha Sacket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes: this fic has been described as having "bodice-ripper levels of consent" and that's especially true for this chapter (i.e., this chapter is the reason for the M rating).
> 
> Also a warning for sexual content.

Professor Ozpin was drunk.

He wasn't so far gone that he was unaware of the fact, swirling the last of his whiskey in his glass, idly watching the golden hue catch the light from his reading lamp. His book lay beside him, long forgotten, the headmaster too distracted for distractions. 

He would regret drinking so heavily on a Wednesday night, and yet at the moment he had no objections. His mind felt light and free, all the worries that drove him to drink now mere clouds that he passed through, as though floating down a very gentle, warm river. 

He was thinking of Qrow Branwen. 

These days it seemed as though he could think of nothing else, the young man's smirk intruding on his focus at work, his dreams at night. Their date - _not_ a date, he reminded himself - had only reinforced how much he enjoyed Qrow's company, how effortless conversation flowed, how Ozpin felt more himself with Qrow than with anyone else. 

Then there was also the matter of how the professor's gut jumped every time Qrow touched him, of the kisses he knew he should refuse but _could not –_

And so Ozpin drank, hoping to dispel the emotional revelations that plagued him, or to dispel the emotions altogether. There were too many reasons it wouldn't work - not that Ozpin could recall any of them after so much whiskey - but he was sure they existed. That confidence he still felt.

All the other troublesome emotions - doubt, worry, guilt, shame - were sleeping in the glow of intoxication, leaving only the strength of Ozpin's affections, as though amplified by the absence of all the others. 

He abandoned his apartment for the office, to look out over the darkened campus, everything still save for the gentle swaying of the trees in the night breeze. The clock beside him read just past midnight, and all Ozpin wanted to do was speak to Qrow.

His scroll was in his hands without thinking; he had nothing at all to say but it felt very important that he should say it regardless, fingers moving over the keys with drunken grace as he retreated to his chair.

He paused halfway, reason at last catching up, and deleted the words. 

But only for a moment.

"I can't sleep," he wrote, settling in at his desk, "but I don't think I should resort to what students call 'drunk texting.'"

He paused again after sending this, considering his words. 

"I suppose that counts regardless," he added. "My apologies. I just wanted to say - "

What _did_ Ozpin want to say? So many things, but even in his disabled state he knew it was unwise. He wanted Qrow with him, with all the urgency of intoxication. He wanted to tell Qrow how the younger man drove him almost mad with his small touches and awful phrasing, how he wanted neither to stop, how he wanted Qrow to whisper all manner of awful things in his ear, his touches to be less innocent –

It took longer to shut down this train of thought that usual, weighted by whiskey, Ozpin feeling flushed from his own imagination. He remembered the moment in the gardens, with the flowers glowing around them, and how perfect it was that Qrow should kiss him there, when the soft golden glow made Qrow more beautiful than any man had a right to be.

"I suppose I'm a little lonely tonight," Ozpin wrote, preoccupied with this vision. He leaned back after hitting the send button, wondering if that was too sentimental. Then he shrugged to himself; what was done was done, and Qrow would likely think nothing of it. So long as Ozpin stopped there and did not send anything further –

"You looked rather nice on our date. With green paint in your hair."

"Not that it was a date."

"You joked about a date after my other date."

"Not that THAT was a date, it was only dinner. With a friend."

"I don't think I'll be seeing him again anyway."

Ozpin dropped the scroll on his lap. He had to stop. He had said too much. Far too much. And yet he couldn't bring himself to feel shame.

"I wish you were awake."

_Damn it, old man._

The professor's scroll pinged to life with a response. The unexpected trill almost made him jump; he fumbled with the device for a moment before squinting at the words. 

"You want me to come up?”

Of course he wanted Qrow. 

To come up, that is. 

But Qrow's presence now would be dangerous. Even in Ozpin's intoxicated state, he knew this, but he couldn't say anything of the sort to Qrow.

"You should be in bed," Ozpin wrote instead. "It's a school night."

The next chime came from behind the headmaster causing him to jump even higher. Qrow Branwen checked his scroll, leaning against the clock tower window casually.

"I was up anyway," he said, stepping down from the window ledge.

"Oh." Ozpin turned his chair, suddenly very aware that he was dressed for bed - his dark green robe tied over boxers. 

_This is a bad idea,_ Ozma told him, a faint sober voice amongst the waves of whiskey. _We all want this, but not_ like _this._

Ozpin ignored the warning; he could hardly kick Qrow out of the office now that the student was here.

"Pardon my appearance," the headmaster said, with a graceless hiccup. "I didn't actually expect...well. Are you usually up this late?"

Qrow nodded, almost shrugging in his casualty as he rounded the headmaster's chair, stopping to lean on the professor's desk. He spoke barely above a whisper, a smirk barely hidden below amused eyes. 

"I could stay up all night if I'm with you, Oz."

"Is - is that so." Speaking became difficult with the sudden butterflies in Ozpin's stomach, the dryness of his mouth. He reached for his glass only to recall it was empty. 

All for the best, he supposed. He could scarcely trust himself with the whiskey already in his blood, unable to look Qrow in the eye. 

"I didn't mean to send so many messages," he muttered. "I just - well. Couldn't sleep."

Ozpin couldn't decide if Qrow's presence was a good or bad thing, or if the whiskey was a good or bad thing, of what he should do now that Qrow was with him, and so he simply slouched in his chair, not trusting himself to say more.

"I'm glad you called me to entertain you,” Qrow said, his voice still low, as though someone might overhear him.

"I didn't mean - ah. Well."

Ozpin fell silent. His thoughts were too loose to say aloud. He tried to rouse his reason, with great effort. 

"I...I'm sorry if I brought you here when you had something better to do."

"You are something better to do."

The innuendo was obvious, heat rising to the headmaster's face.

"Oh," he said, for lack of anything else to say. "I apologize for the other messages - did I already apologize? I don't remember." The professor put a hand to his forehead, willing his memory to work more efficiently. "I'm not certain why I texted you in the first place."

"You wanted me."

"Yes."

The implication of Ozpin's response caught up quickly, even through the whiskey; his face became hot again.

"I mean - I...I didn't - ah." Ozpin stammered, his mind a hive's nest of confusion. "I couldn't think of anyone else I would rather..." His voice trailed, uncertain of what he was trying to say.

Qrow nodded. "I agree. There's no one I'd rather spend tonight with either."

"Oh. I...oh." The headmaster fell silent for a moment. "How strange that you say things like that. Things I want to - " He broke off the sentence, some part of his mind protesting.

It sounded vaguely like Ozma, or one of the rest of them, but then again they all sounded the same after a while.

"You want to what?"

_Don't._

A chorus now, speaking the one word Ozpin didn’t want to hear.

"The things I want to say," Ozpin said, his voice dropping. "I..." 

The headmaster paused, shaking his head. 

"It's the whiskey talking."

"I like the whiskey. You should let it keep talking," Qrow said, voice dropping to match Ozpin's.

_Do not._

"There are...things," Ozpin said, his tongue moving on its own accord. "You - after the date - not a date..."

The headmaster shook his head again, trying to clear hazy thoughts. 

"I don't know what you're doing to me."

"Easy there," Qrow said catching Ozpin by the shoulders. The student edged a leg on the other side of the headmaster, Ozpin's legs now settled securely between Qrow's as the younger man leaned against the table again.

***

Qrow watched the headmaster settle, his world obviously drifting beyond his control in his drunken state. Satisfied the man could carry conversation, Qrow broke the silence with a whisper into the headmaster's ear, "What do you want me to do to you?"

"Everything," Ozpin breathed, his forehead leaning heavily on the young man's chest, shivering at the breath at his ear. "Qrow, I - I..."

He shook his head, the words failing him. 

Qrow’s throat tightened. _It would be so easy to -_

Qrow lifted Ozpin by the chin, guiding the man into a deep kiss. Ozpin melted into the kiss, going limp at Qrow's touch. Ozpin tasted like whiskey tonight, soft lips that opened automatically, allowing Qrow to sweep his tongue in, Ozpin humming against the penetration, his hands pulling weakly at Qrow’s sleeves.

Qrow’s gut fluttered to life and he pulled away more quickly than he wanted, almost groaning at how Ozpin’s mouth tried to follow.

_He’s desperate. Well, I can fucking relate._

"Like that?" Qrow asked hoarse from restraint. His muscles were tense, each individual one screaming at him to take the man before him. 

The man _begging_ for it before him. 

Yet Qrow fought each and every one.

_No. Not like this,_ he thought. 

Qrow, far too faithful to Ozpin, would wait – _had_ to wait – until the headmaster was sober. Until he knew without a doubt, without ability to hide it, that he wanted Qrow as much as the young man wanted him.

But that wasn't going to stop Qrow from earning some reassurance in the meantime.

***

"Yes," the professor breathed. He could not think of anything else to say, instead tugging feebly at his student's arms, too slack around him. "Qrow...please..."

He didn't know what he was asking for, only that it seemed so urgent at the moment, every part of Ozpin alight, praying for relief.

The plea was met with a growl as Qrow pushed the headmaster back into his chair, the student climbing onto the professor's lap, straddling him and claiming the older man's lips once more.

Ozpin whimpered into Qrow's mouth, the sensation so much better than his dreams of late, breaking the urgent kisses with a gasp when Qrow ground against him with aggressive hips, the headmaster suddenly very aware of the student's arousal.

The realization of his own arousal came a moment later, Ozpin gasping against Qrow when he thrust against him with greater urgency.

"Qrow, I - I -"

He didn't know what he was saying, or what he was feeling, beyond the obvious answer of Qrow against him, something he had wanted for entirely too long.

"Shh," Qrow said, his breath in Ozpin's ear, making the headmaster squirm. Strong hands on Ozpin's shoulders pushed the professor against the back of the chair, lips crushing against his again. Without thinking, Ozpin opened his mouth to give Qrow access anew - he wanted to give Qrow everything he wanted.

Qrow growled against Ozpin's tongue as he ground against the headmaster's lap, Ozpin's head spinning from the thrill of pleasure that ran up and down his spine, hips drunkenly matching Qrow's pace, wanting and needing _more –_

Qrow refused them air, his mouth attached to Ozpin's, all desperate aggression, his fingers digging into the headmaster's shoulders. Their lips were the only skin contact between them, somehow making the moment more desperate; Ozpin was certain Qrow could rip the robe from his body and not care in the slightest, but the time it would take to do that would take away from -

_"Oh!"_

A sharp grind from Qrow broke the kiss long enough for the moaned syllable to escape Ozpin's lips, Qrow capturing his mouth again immediately. Fingers unclenched from one shoulder to slip under the collar of Ozpin's robe, Qrow's skin hot against his own. Between the thrusts against him that unraveled his spine and the foreign tongue that swallowed his moans, Ozpin felt the warm fingers trail from his throat to his chest, arching when they settled over an exposed nipple.

His body no longer felt like his own, but of course that was because he belonged to Qrow – 

He was panting helplessly into Qrow's mouth now, hips writhing at the grinding that was _almost_ enough - 

As though reading the professor's mind - or needing more himself - Qrow's pace quickened, his hips grinding into Ozpin with all his weight, the headmaster's quiet moans vibrating against the student's mouth. Another tweak of Ozpin's nipple, the hard weight of Qrow against him, and the heat pooled in Ozpin's groin beyond control. The headmaster arched, arms pulling Qrow against him, a wordless moan muted by Qrow's aggressive lips, boxers catching the wet heat. 

Some polite part of Ozpin resurfaced, wishing to prevent Qrow from continuing to grind against him now that he was soiled, but the student didn't seem to mind. On the contrary, Qrow groaned into Ozpin's mouth, hips canting with a few last desperate thrusts before Ozpin felt a new heat against him, Qrow at last breaking their kiss to pant against Ozpin’s bare shoulder, his breath heavy.

The desperation of both men began to cool, Ozpin's mind a flurry of confusion, utterly unsure of how Qrow had ended up in his lap, how wonderful and right it had felt -

Qrow sat up and looked him in the eye; at once heat erupted on his face. 

"Qrow, I -"

"It's a good dream, isn't it, Oz?" Qrow's voice was graveled, undeniably magnetic.

The headmaster paused, confusion exploding anew. "Dream?"

"You should get to bed though."

"I - oh. I suppose you're right..."

He took the hand Qrow offered him, the student pulling up the drunken professor, Ozpin flushing anew at the press of Qrow against him. 

_He feels so very nice. So right._

"What's the bedroom code?"

"You already know it."

Qrow looked at him briefly, stooping to enter 0-1-0-8. The bedroom door swung open silently.

"You're not supposed to use your birthday for security," he teased.

"No one but you knows my birthday," Ozpin said.

Qrow gave him an indecipherable look, leading the stumbling professor to his bedside, pushing him against the pillows with a gentle but firm hand. 

Everything felt so light and warm. Qrow was right; this was a good dream.

"Get some sleep, Oz."

"I want you to stay," Ozpin said, his voice dreamy. His head had only just touched the pillow and he felt sleep reaching for him; he only had a short time longer with this dream Qrow.

The student paused, removing the headmaster's glasses and placing them on the side table. 

"I can't, Oz."

"Oh. I see. That's all right. This was a good dream."

A soft chuckle coaxed heavy eyes to close. "Yeah?"

"I wish we could have done more, like in the other dreams, but somehow this one..." Ozpin yawned, each word taking an effort to speak. "This one was better still."

"Good." A hand was in Ozpin's hair, fingers running through silver locks; the headmaster made a soft sound akin to a purr.

"Apologies for your pants," he said, voice fading to a whisper, thinking becoming all but impossible. "In the other dreams, I would have..."

"Would have what, Oz?"

"I would have prevented that."

"D'you have a lot of these dreams?"

"So many," Ozpin murmured. "I suppose you're all different Qrows..."

The fingers in his hair lulled Ozpin to silence, sleep washing over him like a heavy wave. He did not sense Qrow sitting beside him, pulling the covers up; nor did he hear the bedroom door close and the flutter of wings from the office. 

For the first time in weeks, Ozpin's sleep was dreamless.

***

Professor Ozpin did not look good.

Professor Agrios arrived at his office at 8:00AM precisely, the day's schedule on her scroll, enough caffeine in her veins to motivate her to survive one more day at Beacon.

It was almost Friday, she thought. Not that she didn't work a bit on weekends, when her scroll would ping with something Ozpin needed right that second, and she would curse his name in her head.

But today...

Ozpin looked almost green, an unnatural shade washed over his pale complexion, matching the emerald scarf around his throat.

"You look like you're about to die," she said in lieu of a greeting, taking a seat across from him.

"Good morning, Ferra," the professor said, offering a weak smile. "I don't believe I'm at death's door just yet, but I confess I don't feel well today."

"Did you have your coffee? You know how you get when you don't – "

The suggestion was met with a violent shake of the headmaster's head, the green tint darkening.

"Good lord, you really are sick," Ferra said. "Maybe a sick day is in order?"

Ozpin sighed, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. "I think that would be wise."

"No coffee and not protesting a day off. Are you sure you're not dying?"

The headmaster only sighed again. 

"I'll take care of the urgent matters for you," Ferra said, "if you promise to crawl back into bed for the rest of the day."

Ozpin smiled - still weak, but almost as enigmatic as his usual self.

"Thank you, Ferra."

"Yes, yes. Just get better, Ozpin. I have no intention of running this school for longer than necessary."

She rose and pressed the button for the elevator.

_"Rest,"_ she said, the word sounding akin to a threat.

"Yes, dear," Ozpin said.

Ferra made a _harrumph_ noise as she stepped into the elevator, closing her schedule to open her messages, shooting off her first to Qrow Branwen.

"The headmaster is out ill today, so I'm canceling your usual appointment with him on his behalf. Although if you would like to visit him and make sure he hasn't died, I would be most obliged. I don't have time to play headmistress and nurse today."

“My pleasure,” came the immediate reply.

“You had better not mean that literally,” Ferra wrote back, and frowned at her scroll when it remained silent.

***

Qrow arrived at the headmaster's office in less than ten minutes of receiving the red flag from Professor Agrios, stopping along the way to bring his favorite hangover cure - not that the student drank it often because he himself – it tasted awful and he preferred to just keep drinking. But a bartender and informant in Mistral had told him it was the best there was, adding that it was best not to know _exactly_ what was in it.

The elevator pinged to an empty office, the gears overheard the only sound. Still, Qrow searched lest he miss the man passed out on the floor.

He could only imagine how rough Oz looked after last night.

No headmaster, which meant the apartment.

Qrow's fingers hesitated over the keypad. Sure, he knew the code, but how could he explain it should the professor ask? Last night was supposed to be a dream. 

Last night was an illusion. It definitely felt that way with how good it went. 

For once.

Qrow furrowed his brow and punched in the code anyway. Better to come up with a half-assed story than let Oz die of a hangover.

He closed the door behind him, eyes roving to the bed where the headmaster lay, burrowed under the sheets, silver hair poking out at odd angles. Qrow restrained a laugh; not everyone could drink like he could, and experience showed that Oz _definitely_ couldn’t.

"Honey, I'm home," Qrow teased quietly, approaching the bed to look him over and offer his cure. "I figured from the messages last night you'd be hungover, but this is impressive."

***

The voice was almost dreamlike - well, nightmarish. The mere sound of speech sent sparks through Ozpin's head, pulsating with his heart, the pain giving encouragement to the nausea that rose up in his throat. He tried to raise his head to the sound but the light that split the darkness of his bedroom forced his eyes to clench shut, the room spinning.

The headmaster groaned and hid his head under a pillow; he had not wasted a moment in seeking refuge in his dark bedroom after Ferra's exit, kicking off his shoes and falling face-first into the sheets. He was still fully dressed but didn't care; all he wanted was to sleep until the pain ebbed.

"Go away," he said to the nightmare version of Qrow, the words almost indistinguishable from beneath the pillow. Last night, Qrow in his dreams had been everything he wanted; now he wished him gone, to leave him to suffer in peace. "Just let me die."

"Ferra would skin me alive if I did that and she had to run this school by herself," the nightmare said. "Just stay there and I’ll help. Can't have you overheating on top of a hangover.”

Ozpin blinked at the tug on his jacket, the sensation too real, his head jerking up again. All at once the dreamlike veil shattered; the moment his eyes landed on Qrow, the headmaster felt the blush erupt. Last night's dream resurfaced with such strength that for a moment all Ozpin could see was Qrow atop him, whispering for Ozpin to be quiet, panting in his ear when he –

Qrow pulled the coat from the headmaster's shoulders and Ozpin thought in that moment that he truly would die, the heat under his scarf unbearable, brought to life by Qrow's mere presence. He buried his head under the pillow again, unable to look his student in the face.   
He thought of telling Qrow to leave again, but it seemed rude. Qrow was merely here to help him; he couldn't possibly know how he fed into Ozpin's desperate sense of shame. 

"I'm fine," he said instead, the effort of words preventing any further lies.

"And I'm not an alcoholic. Head up." Qrow’s hands were on him again, lifting the Ozpin's head gently to remove his scarf. 

_This is a nightmare._

_These are consquences,_ Ozma reasoned, _to drinking your problems away. We know from experience it’s not a solution._

Ozpin only replied with a soft groan and a myriad of incoherent internal cursing.

***

Scarf tossed to a nearby chair, Qrow put his hands on his hips, taking notes on the limp form before him. Oz really was pretty pathetic right now, but he couldn’t blame him. Gods knew that Qrow had been there enough times himself.

Oz needed comfort and rest.

And comfort came with not wearing a full suit to bed.

Qrow's stomach did a quick flip anticipating the next move. He wanted this, needed this, but couldn't trust himself to – 

"Can you get your pants, or do you need me to?"

***

"My - what?"

Ozpin sat up quickly, face alight.

Too quickly.

The room spun anew, the professor falling back on one elbow, shutting his eyes to the sensation. Last night, in the safety of drunken dreams, Ozpin would have been more than happy to allow Qrow to disrobe him; now the sick light of sobriety made the idea horrifying. He could be grateful to his hangover for one reason, and that was that it prevented the possibility of arousal when Qrow's hands were on him, that same arousal that caused such lucid dreams that caused the headmaster to wake with soiled undergarments.

A twitch of his gut betrayed him when the memories slipped back into his mind.

_Bloody hell._

He had to think of something else. Anything else. He tried to find an answer to Qrow's question, but the moment he looked up at the student, a fresh blush erupted, stealing his words.

***

Qrow sighed, reaching nimble fingers to undo the headmaster's belt buckle. Clenched fists prevented him from completing the task, Qrow frozen in self-inflicted restraint.

Could he? Would he? 

If he did, could he stop himself? 

Could he not have Ozpin here and now? Could he – 

A glance at the pitiful state of the headmaster, the numb shock plastered on his face, was more than enough to convince Qrow that he could indeed complete the task - without taking advantage of the man.

_One more week. I can wait one more week before taking advantage of him._

He thought about last night, of the soft, lust-driven sounds Ozpin had made beneath him.

_Mostly not take advantage._

Qrow thanked his bad luck for once - it fueled him toward one-night stands in place of dangerous relationships. His experience allowed him to make quick work of the task in one swift movement.

And there he lay. 

The target of his affections. 

In bed. 

In nothing more than a shirt and boxers. 

Green.

_Of course they’re green._

Every curse known to man ran through the young man's mind, Qrow resulting to folding the pants in mid-air to hide his enlightened response.

_He’s cute when he’s pathetic and the boxers are cute and even when he looks like he’s dying he drives me fucking insane –_

One more week.

Just one more.

***

Ozpin couldn't even look in Qrow's direction, each wave of heat followed by another, every moment a new reason to blush. He felt as though he were on display, in front of the one person where it mattered. He hated to admit to himself how his stomach jumped at the touch of Qrow's hands on his belt, the not insignificant thrill of Qrow undressing him.

"Thank you," he murmured, using the effort of speaking to interrupt his own thoughts. "I'm sorry for this - and for the texts last night. I don't know what came over me."

Of course that was a lie - Qrow came over him. 

_Literally,_ he thought, before he remembered he wasn't supposed to think about the dream.

Qrow failed to suppress a smirk, as if he could read Ozpin’s mind, his hands at work on the headmaster's shirt buttons.

"They say alcohol makes you honest," he said teasingly. Qrow's fingers lingered on the last button below Ozpin's navel, pausing in some unknown thought, sighing, and flipping it free.

"You've taken care of me before, so don't worry about it." With that, the student hoisted - slowly, gently hoisted - the headmaster upright to remove the last of his formal attire.

_"Honest,"_ Ozpin repeated darkly, his head throbbing at the mention of alcohol. “It was stupid. And careless...very careless."

_Still careless,_ the headmaster thought, closing his eyes against the touch of Qrow's warm hands on his skin. He was enjoying it too much, even with the hangover threatening to make him vomit. Qrow's touch was equal parts vexing and wonderful, but that fraction of wonderful was enough that the headmaster still wanted more.

"I'm never going to drink again," Ozpin murmured, when Qrow eased him back onto his pillow.

The statement earned a harsh laugh from the student. "That's a lie and you know it. Unless you're giving me all your good whiskey?"

"Let's not be too hasty," the professor murmured, another throb of his head objecting to speech.

“Lemme check your temperature,” Qrow said, tossing the shirt carelessly aside to join the scarf.

“There’s a thermometer in the bath – ” Ozpin broke off the sentence when Qrow leaned over him, touching their foreheads together.

Ozpin felt his temperature rise instantly.

"You don't want to give it all to me, Ozpin?"

The whisper did too many things to Ozpin simultaneously - his stomach flipped in a manner wholly unrelated to his nausea, fire blooming in his cheeks, his breath catching as though hands wrapped around his throat.

He fidgeted at Qrow's nearness, the touch of his forehead, the heat of his breath, his lips _so_ close –

"I...the thought is tempting," the headmaster whispered. His hands twitched and he placed his palms flat against the sheets, restraining the desire to reach up and pull Qrow on top of him. "Very...tempting."

"Then do it," Qrow pushed, his tone turning urgent.

_He's not talking about whiskey he's not talking about whiskey –_

It was impossible not to react to that primal tone, the need in Qrow's voice unmistakable. Ozpin shifted, feeling the strain of his altered blood flow. 

"Give me everything, Oz.”

Ozpin let out a quiet noise of frustration; his head throbbed but now other parts throbbed in unison; some part of him was horrified by his reaction to his student whispering impropriety in his ear, but he could no longer blush, too preoccupied with the other chaos wracking his body.

He wanted nothing more than to obey Qrow's confident demand, his fingers digging into the sheets.

"You know I can’t," he whispered, his eyes hyper-focused on Qrow's lips. “Not yet.”

"All you have to do is ask."

“Qrow…I _can’t.”_

“Even if you want it?” Qrow’s eyes searched Ozpin’s face, reading the obvious truth spelled out there.

Every ounce of the headmaster's strength was occupied in keeping him from lifting his hips to grind against Qrow; he shut his eyes to block out of the image of Qrow's lips just above his own. Every thought was overshadowed by the proximity of the student.

And Qrow was saying what Ozpin had so long imagined. He was asking for permission.

He couldn't possibly say it – that he wanted Qrow, desperately. It was impossible, a breach of ethics beyond anything Ozpin could atone. The nearness of Qrow was enough to drive Ozpin nearly mad, but he could restrain himself if Qrow did not touch him. 

If Qrow did, Ozpin could guarantee absolutely nothing.

"I..." He could feel his own breath on his lips, Qrow so close that he captured each stammered syllable.

A hundred different wants flashed through Ozpin's mind, the headmaster suppressing a whine at the possibilities. 

"I want..."

“Yeah?” Qrow whispered, urgent.

Ozpin paused, a new feeling creeping up.

"I want to vomit," he said, and pushed Qrow off of himself abruptly, leaning over the side of the bed to retch.

***

Qrow slumped against the headboard, his head thudding gracelessly as, for the second time that morning, he ran through every curse known to man.

And maybe some not.

Growling, he pushed himself up hopping out of the bed to care for the professor, disappearing into the bathroom to rummage for cleaning supplies. Once he was sure Ozpin was done, Qrow eased him back onto his back, covering the headmaster's forehead and eyes with a damp towel.

"Drink," he ordered handing the man a mug of water while he cleaned the mess.

"I'm sorry," Ozpin said, his voice hoarse. "I would make a very poor alcoholic, it seems." He managed half of the water before he winced, placing it back on the side table with shaky hands, sinking back on the pillow.

"I'm sorry," he said again - this apology for something more than the student's care.

Qrow shrugged, scrubbing at the rug. "It's what you do when you're in lo – when you're with someone you care about. You've taken me in when I was too drunk to fly, you visited me when I was in the hospital, you even let me get wasted when bad things just...happen. This is the lighter end of the deal.”

One. More. Week.

Qrow sighed. He didn’t mind caring after Oz.

But it would have been nice if his bad luck hadn’t picked today to kick in.

***

Somehow Qrow's reassurances - tinged with disappointment - did little to lighten Ozpin's guilt. He couldn't be sure the abrupt disruption was more relief or disappointment himself.

The headmaster was growing highly concerned with how fond he was of Qrow. 

If he hadn't been sick, would he have said what Qrow asked? Would he have given in and pressed his mouth on Qrow's waiting lips? 

He was almost certain he would have.

But now nausea had undone him, Ozpin no longer concerned with his state of undress, or tempted by his student's suggestive tones. Now he only wanted sleep, and for his mind to stop thinking quite so much. 

Qrow was trying - and failing, to a degree - to wait until his graduation. He knew Ozpin's ethics almost as well as the headmaster himself. It was a respectful gesture, a sweetness that was not Qrow’s nature, and Ozpin appreciated the thoughtfulness.

And yet the two couldn't seem to stop themselves from being tempted. 

"I will make it up to you," Ozpin said quietly. "Soon."

The softly spoken words seemed to do the trick - Qrow instantly beaming.

"I'm gonna hold ya to that," he said with a wink. 

_I thought you were going to reject him._

_How could I now, Ozma? I’m not certain I remember how to live without him._

"Now get some sleep." Qrow said, leaning to kiss Ozpin's forehead and pull up the blankets. "I gotta get to Port’s class.”

“You have time,” Ozpin said, his voice already sleepy.

“Yeah, well.” Qrow cleared his throat. “I gotta take care of something.”

“If you have homework – ”

_He means an erection, Ozpin._

“Oh,” Ozpin said aloud, and let out a laugh before he could stop himself.

Qrow simply gave him a wry look from the doorway. “Brave of you to laugh when you look like this, Oz.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m unwell.”

“All the more reason to get better,” Qrow said, grinning, and Ozpin heard his soft laughter as he closed the door behind him.

***

At eleven o'clock, Professor Agrios made her way back up to the clock tower, annoyed that neither Professor Ozpin nor Qrow Branwen had answered her texts. If the old man had died, she wanted to know before anyone else.

She expected a hefty raise if she had to be Headmistress just before her retirement. 

She alighted from the elevator into the empty office; the neglected coffee machine made the tower feel abandoned, the gears overhead whispering ghostly groans. She glanced around with a sigh, knowing her errand was in vain if Ozpin had indeed taken her advice and gone to bed, and so she turned back toward the elevator –

\- and spied the familiar crack in the very wall.

She tiptoed forward, uncertain if she should intrude. She didn’t have the access code to Ozpin’s apartment because Ozpin never offered it and she never asked, but it occurred to her that perhaps she should, in case something _did_ happen. Ozpin was fiercely private, and he would hate her bursting in without permission.

And yet she hardly cared about that at all if it meant keeping him alive.

Ferra stepped into the room, dark save for the sliver of light that spilled in behind her, illuminating only the bronze rug on the floor, the dark green covers of a bed. She pulled the door open further, the light expanding her view, until she caught the soft movement under the sheets.

Now she plodded forward without fear, examining the glass of water beside the bed, a small bottle lying empty and the headmaster's glasses within reach of the silver hair that peeked out from beneath a mountain of emerald pillows. 

"Are you drinking enough water, sir?"

Ozpin shot up as though stung, wide brown eyes landing upon his assistant with an expression she could only describe as panic.

She pressed her lips together to hide a grin when the action was followed immediately by a blush and a frantic attempt to pull the covers over his bare chest.

"You think I haven't seen a naked man before?" she asked dryly.

"I - I'm not entirely - how did you get in?"

"The door," Ferra said.

The headmaster sighed, falling back on his pillows, sheets clutched to his throat. "Qrow."

"Wait a moment - _Branwen_ knows about this room? For how long?"

Ozpin flinched at the rise in her voice. "Quietly, if you please. I have a splitting headache."

Ferra frowned.

Ozpin sighed again. "For some time," he admitted at last. "I was ill one day, and I had opened the door when he came in..."

"So this isn't the first time he's played nurse with you."

Ferra was rewarded with the pink that bloomed on Ozpin's cheeks. 

"I shouldn't tease you," she said, laughing regardless. "If it weren't for him checking up on you, you'd have no care at all. I've only seen you see a doctor when you were literally dying, and even then I was the one to haul your ass to the hospital."

"Ah, yes." Ozpin settled lower into the bed, as though attempting to hide. "He has been...helpful."

Ferra studied the headmaster, searching for the hidden meaning in his words. "He takes good care of you, does he?"

Another pink blush, a quiet cough. "Yes, he...does quite a lot."

"Hmm." Ferra nodded. "Not many students would do the same."

"No, I...don't think so."

"For all his trouble, he's a good man. When he cares, he cares deeply."

"Yes, I..." Ozpin gave her a quizzical look. "I've never heard you give Qrow such praise before."

"Well, maybe it took some time for me to see how special he is. It will be a pity to lose him."

"Oh. Yes..." Ozpin's eyes dropped, as though contemplating this fact.

"Have you asked him to stay?"

"Stay?" The question had more than one meaning, one of which presented a new, stronger blush. 

"As one of your spies. He'd be happy to do it."

"Do you believe so?" Ozpin asked. "Sometimes, I...wonder."

He wasn't talking about Qrow's desire to stay and work for Ozpin. That was fine; neither was Ferra.

"Sir," she said quietly, "you know he would do anything for you."

The sheets inched up over Ozpin's nose, the headmaster looking away. 

"I...do know that. But..."

"But?"

"Never mind it," the headmaster said abruptly. "I'm rather tired, Ferra, if you don't mind."

"Right," she said, shoulders falling with disappointment. "I'll leave you to your rest, sir. Would you like me to tell Branwen not to check in?"

"Ah. No, I...don't mind that," Ozpin said, without meeting her eyes. 

Ferra bit back a smile. "Very well, sir. Sleep well." She stepped back into the office, leaving the door cracked behind her, hands already reaching for your scroll.

"Spoke with the headmaster," she wrote. "Whatever you're doing, it's working."

She snickered to herself as the elevator doors closed on her.

One more week, and she could finally take _wingman_ off her list of duties.


	19. In which Team STRQ's time at Beacon comes to an end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'll use you as a warning sign  
> That if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind  
> And I'll use you as a focal point  
> So I don't lose sight of what I want  
> And I've moved further than I thought I could  
> But I missed you more than I thought I would  
> And I'll use you as a warning sign  
> That if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind
> 
> And I found love where it wasn't supposed to be  
> Right in front of me  
> Talk some sense to me"
> 
> \- "I Found", Amber Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end of Year 4, and Qrow's time at Beacon as a student. We thank you all for sticking with us for this long, and we hope you will continue to do so as we continue Ozpin and Qrow's story together in the years to follow in the next installment, "The Shining Beacon (The Later Years), beginning this weekend. 💚

Taiyang awoke to his scroll alarm, grudging sleepiness as he pressed the button to silence it. For a moment his eyes drooped closed again. Raven wasn’t beside him, but that wasn’t unusual. She often went out at all hours when she couldn’t sleep; she had been restless a lot more often lately.

_Graduation, probably,_ Tai thought drowsily, settling deeper against his pillow.

Then his eyes snapped open.

_Graduation!_

He sat up too quickly, hitting his forehead against Raven’s top bunk loud enough to echo in the dorm. He swore internally, slipping his feet to the floor, moving toward the light switch.

“GUYS.”

Summer and Qrow groaned in unison from their beds when the light came on, harsh and unexpected.

“It’s graduation!” Tai exclaimed, his excited eyes darting from one teammate to the other.

Qrow muttered something rude under his breath, muffled when he shoved his head under his pillow. Summer remained sitting up, her red-black hair askew, eyes blank as though still unconscious. 

“Wha…?” she said, blinking at him.

“We’re _graduating_ today, guys!” Tai said, stooping beside Summer’s bed, taking her hands in his and shaking them.

“Oh.” Summer shook her head, her expression clearing, a smile forming slowly. “That’s right!”

“Shut the fuck up, both of you,” came Qrow’s muffled rebuke. “The ceremony isn’t for another few hours.”

“Some of us are excited to be earning our Huntsman certification,” Tai teased.

“Some of us didn’t fucking sleep,” Qrow snapped.

“Too excited?”

Qrow groaned and sat up, his hair even worse than Summer’s. “You’ve _no_ idea.”

Tai grinned. Of course Qrow was excited – who _wouldn’t_ be today?

“Then come on! Let’s get dressed and have breakfast together. One last time as students.”

Qrow made a face like he’d rather do anything else, but he flipped the covers off himself, rolling his shoulders back.

“That’s the spirit!” Tai said, pulling Summer from her bed. She giggled, stumbling against him when her legs got caught in the sheets.

“Sorry,” she said, still laughing.

He grinned. “It’s okay. I know how you ladies need a big, strong man to – ”

The door opened then, Raven standing at the threshold. She regarded Summer in Taiyang’s arms without expression.

Any other girl might be jealous, but of course Raven wasn’t just _any_ girl.

_She’s my girl._

Tai laughed and let Summer go, turning to his girlfriend, holding his hands up mockingly. “It’s not what it looks like, Raven.”

Raven continued to stare blankly, closing the door behind her without looking. 

_Maybe she didn’t sleep at all last night._

Tai put a hand on her shoulder, offering her a small smile. “Come on, Raven. We’re graduating today.”

Still nothing.

Tai felt his smile falter. This mood was dark even for her.

“Just think about it,” he said, softly. “You and me, certified Huntsmen, traveling the world, taking jobs wherever we want. Sure, I wanna settle down eventually, but that doesn’t mean right away. We can get away, do whatever we want for a while – ”

“I think I’m pregnant,” Raven announced, too loudly.

The dorm went silent, Taiyang’s breath stopping in his throat.

_Did she say –_

An eternity passed and then Qrow shuffled down from his bunk, a bathrobe in hand.

“Yeah, I’m out,” he said, and then he was gone, the dorm door slamming shut behind him.

“Raven,” Tai said slowly, watching the lack of expression on her face. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she snapped, anger flashing over blank features at last.

_Pregnant._

Tai repeated the word in his head again and again.

_Pregnant. Raven’s pregnant._

“That…” Words escaped him for another breathless moment, his head shaking involuntarily. “That’s _great!”_

_Raven is pregnant. We’re going to have a baby -_

His thoughts fragmented into repetition, his heart swelling.

It was more than anything he could have wished for.

Raven gave him an incredulous look – for what? Did she really expect him to be upset at this news?

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, feeling her hair between his fingers, her chin on his shoulder. 

“Think about it,” he said quietly. “We can settle down right away. Find a quiet place that’s just for us. I’ll get a job and support us – maybe something near Signal. Remember – like we talked about that one time? I can take odd Huntsman jobs until I find something permanent.”

Raven’s stiff body slowly relaxed in his arms, her hands finding their place on his back, between his shoulder blades, where she always rested them. 

“Okay?” he said.

“…okay,” she said quietly, into the crook of his neck.

He grinned, pulling away enough to see her face. She still looked shell-shocked – but of course, why wouldn’t she be? This was huge news, but _good_ news, and Tai would take care of her better than the tribe or anyone else possibly could.

He heard a sniffle behind him and turned his head, surprised to be reminded of Summer’s presence. 

“What d’you think, Summer?” he said.

Of course Summer was thrilled for them. She was one of his best friends, a reliable source of all things that were good for him.

Summer hastily wiped at her eyes, smiling broadly. “I’m so happy for you,” she said. “For you both. I…I love kids so much. You’re going to be amazing parents.”

_Summer has always been too good to us._

“I gotta go find Qrow and tell him the good news,” Tai said, still grinning. “Not the baby – the part where everything is okay.” He kissed Raven and raced off, his heart lighter today than it had ever been before.

***

Summer listened to the news with a heart that ached, broke, and slowly bled in her chest, her eyes welling with a quickness that she couldn’t quell fast enough.

_Raven’s pregnant. Raven is having Taiyang’s baby._

How could you live watching someone else live your dream?

Raven turned dead eyes on Summer when the door closed.

For a long moment they regarded each other, coming to terms with what this meant for all of them.

“So,” Summer said, sitting back on her bunk. “What do you really intend to do?”

Raven stood, expressionless eyes sweeping to the window. “What do you mean?”

Summer sighed. “Really? Buying a house with a picket fence and being a stay-at-home mom? You can’t expect me to believe that.”

Raven’s eyes moved slowly back to her. Then she gave a small shrug. 

“I’ll do what I always said I would.”

“You’re going back to the tribe.”

“I never said I would do anything else.”

“You implied it,” Summer said, feeling the wound as though it were her own heart Raven planned to break. “Just now.”

“It will be easier,” Raven said listlessly. “I’ll wait out the pregnancy, make sure Tai has a good job, a house…”

“And you’ll leave the baby with him.”

“It will be easier,” Raven repeated.

“Easier for you!” Summer cried. “What about Taiyang?”

Raven shrugged. “At least he’ll have the baby. The picture-perfect life, minus the wife.”

Summer wanted to shout at her, to point out that this was _barely_ a good thing at all, that the deception would kill him –

“He’s deceived about who I am,” Raven said, “no matter how many times I have tried to tell him. Maybe we were…both deceived about whatever this was.”

“He loves you,” Summer said pleadingly. 

“This is the best decision for him. For all of us.” Raven’s hand drifted toward her stomach and then fell back to her side.

“You’ll still break his heart,” Summer said, blinking back tears.

“Not all of it. The baby will heal it.”

“So will I,” Summer blurted.

Raven’s eyes scanned Summer’s determined, tear-streaked face. Then her expression cleared.

Summer watched the realization drift over her face. 

“I see,” Raven said. “How long?”

“Long enough,” Summer said, almost bitter. “But I never interfered. I always tried to help you two.”

Raven was quiet for a moment.

“I know,” she said. “You would. You’re not like me.”

“I’m grateful for that,” Summer said, too hurt to feel guilt for the remark.

“He may never love you like that,” Raven said. “Even if you stand by him for this.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

Another long pause, as though Raven had to translate what Summer was saying.

“I hope he does,” she said at last. “Maybe that would be for the best.”

Summer’s heart ached too much to consider this; being with him, helping him care for the baby she knew would be left to an otherwise empty house –

“You won’t tell him?” Raven said.

“About your plans?” Summer said. “No. I swore to myself I wouldn’t drive you two apart, no matter what. But I’ll do everything else for him, even if he hates me for it.”

“He won’t,” Raven said, crossing the room to the window, pulling it open. “He’ll thank you. And so do I.”

She vanished into a flash of black feathers, the sound of wings brief and then gone, leaving Summer to wipe away her tears alone.

_No, not alone._

She had Taiyang, and Qrow, and the baby. They would make an odd family, but they would be a family.

At the end of things, that was more than she could ever want.

***

Ozpin regarded this year’s graduation ceremony with a sense of loss even before it began. Every year’s graduation, of course, came with the feeling, a sense of watching young adults released into the real world of Huntsmen, armed with their freshly learned skills, their zeal, and their new accreditation.

But this year, of course, was different for another reason. 

Ozpin returned from the ceremony early, leaving before the inevitable student mingling, before he could be forced into goodbyes he did not want to give. After so many years and so many faces, they blended together regardless.

Except, he knew, for the one still to come.

The elevator doors opened, ushering in the desired _almost_ solitude, the professor already sensing the other entity in the room, casually leaning against the grand window frame, arms folded with ease, all balance perched on one toe with grace. He needn’t meet the young man’s gaze; Ozpin felt it, felt it burning through him to his very core, the professor entirely thrilled and terrified at once. 

The gaze followed him across the room, around his desk, and to his chair; he felt it roam head to toe, then back again.

“You’re early.”

Ozpin regarded the words carefully, memorizing the timbre of Qrow’s voice, the note of optimism therein.

“Yes, I...thought you might be waiting for me.” 

The truth was best for a moment like this, when the rest of the world seemed a bit muted, a bit too far away, the other presence in the office overwhelming all else.

“Eager for something?” Qrow’s voice dipped up, his elated smirk audible.

The truth was that Ozpin was eager, but not in the manner Qrow suggested. Every part of him was resigned to what this all had been building toward, to what he long since considered inevitable.

Another life, resigned to inevitability. 

Certain things were inescapable. 

And now he had brought Qrow into that particular fate with him.

“Qrow…” He let the name trail, uncertain now of course what he wanted to say, but needing to say his name aloud. They were at once both beyond words, and forced to use them. He continued the trek across the office, taking his seat, facing away from Qrow, the proximity pulling at him like a magnet.

“I suppose I just...didn’t want to say goodbye yet.”

“Funny you should say that.” 

Ozpin heard the soft kick from the ledge, a whisper of clothing pulled taut as the professor’s chair tilted, rotating to face the source of his tensions. 

“‘Cause I was gonna ask you something.” 

_That smile…_

A gentle caress stroked Ozpin’s chin, tilting the professor’s head up toward Qrow.

Ozpin’s heart trilled despite himself, wanting to pull away and lean in simultaneously. He knew the reason Qrow was here instead of with his team, his friends, celebrating their new Huntsman certification. It almost didn’t need to be spoken, if the two men hadn’t spent the better part of the year avoiding the subject as much as possible.

“You can ask me anything,” he said quietly, “and I will do my best to answer.”

He recognized the spark in Qrow’s red eyes, hungry for the man before them - the charge transferred to a pull of Ozpin’s scarf, a demand of his lips, the consuming of his thoughts.

Ozpin let Qrow guide him up, closer to – 

“Qrow, wait.” Ozpin turned his head despite the desire to do the opposite. 

He should have known that Qrow, on today of all days, would be more inclined to use his body over his words, but there was a conversation they had not yet had, and Ozpin needed that before he could allow anything else.

Especially considering how distracting Qrow’s touch was, and how helpless Ozpin felt against it.

“What is it?” The growl, impatient, but gentle, mimicked the caress crawling into Ozpin’s hair, deliberate, but yearning. Qrow searched the headmaster’s face for his reason for hesitation, his eyes alight with anticipation.

Ozpin closed his eyes against the fingers in his hair, his breath quickening. He loved Qrow’s hands in his hair more than he could express, innocent and intimate all at once, a lover’s touch, soft and adoring. 

Only after a deep breath could he remember the conversation only one of them was trying to have.

“You said you had something to ask me,” he said quietly, “and I think I need you to ask it.”

The deep chuckle reverberated both men in their close proximity, Ozpin feeling each exhale of Qrow’s warm breath, the professor suppressing the prickles in their wake.

“And here I thought we were past words,” Qrow teased, at last leaning back, alleviating the tense air between the two. 

“Fine, fine…I’ll do you right,” he said, grinning at his own innuendo. “Ozpin…wait – should I get down on a knee or something first? Never done this properly.”

The blush came violently, instant at the implication. 

“You can’t mean - “ He broke off the sentence, the words evaporating off with the heat under his collar.

“This can’t be a surprise, Oz. All the lessons, the late nights together, the dates…” 

Qrow shook his head. “Even you’re not that oblivious. Mostly.” 

He sighed, deep and long pulling his courage to voice the unspeakable. 

“I want you to be with me. I want to be with you. Together. Like a couple. Forever...or as long as you’ll let your favorite troublemaker keep a nest in your office. You can send me on missions, I’ll bring you back exotic shiny things, and every night we can be back in each other’s arms...” He trailed off, grinning, the twinkle in his eye awaiting an anticipated response.

There it was. 

The confession, the proposition, everything Ozpin had thought he imagined until he couldn’t ignore the signs, everything Ozpin had wanted to hear for too long. The very idea of it was more than he could process. Qrow, continuing to work for him; Qrow, returning to him.

_Back in each other’s arms,_ he said.

Ozpin ached for that kind of happiness.

There was, of course, only one answer he could give.

“No,” he whispered.

If it was possible to feel one’s heart break, Ozpin did, his eyes prickling at his own response, at all the dreams Qrow proposed turning to ash.

And yet he knew he had to.

“And then we can - ” Qrow had joyfully began without fully realizing the utterance.

_I’m sorry._

“No?” Qrow cocked an eyebrow, his smile fading from the edges in until no remnant of it remained. 

He wore the face of a man who just realized his heart was about to break.

“No?” he repeated, unable to comprehend the foreign word.

_I’m sorry I’m sorry –_

“Oz, that isn’t funny.” Qrow frowned, eyebrows knitting, a hand reaching for Ozpin’s, each half second more desperate for reassurance. The distance closed, Qrow resting his head against Ozpin’s. 

Ozpin froze, still, it seemed, petrified by the power of Qrow’s touch.

“Don’t joke like that, it hurts,” Qrow whispered, his voice cracking.

And it _did_ hurt - more than Ozpin could have predicted, a sharp stab deep within, self-inflicted, made worse by watching the slow fade of Qrow’s smile, the injured confusion in his eyes.

“I - I’m sorry,” Ozpin said at last, his voice breaking. Qrow’s touch was painful now, sweet and wonderful and fleeting, made temporary by his own choice. “I wish - more than anything - that I could.”

“Then say _‘Yes.’”_ The hand tightened on Ozpin’s, determined, desperate.

“I can’t,” Ozpin said, putting an effort into his voice now. “Qrow, I...it’s not as simple as just...being together. Nothing about me is simple, or safe, and I...I am incapable of having that manner of happiness anymore.”

Some voice deep within protested, but Ozpin cut it down, pushed it back down, drowned in the pain he drove into himself.

_This is the right decision,_ he said.

And that was final.

“Bullshit,” Qrow growled, annoyance, pain, driving distance between the two. Qrow wrenched his hand away, resuming his position from when Ozpin first entered the room, perched against the headmaster’s desk this time, arms crossed, delicately balanced - only this time he was tense, angry, prepared for battle. Only his eyes betrayed any hint of pain behind his resolve; there he could never hide from Ozpin. 

“There is nothing stopping you from saying yes. You’re the gods-damned headmaster of the best Huntsman academy, for fuck’s sake. No one is going to stop you from doing anything, except you. And you want this just as much as I do, so stop being so damn stubborn and let yourself be happy for once. Let us _both_ be happy for once.”

_He thinks that because I have power I have autonomy._

_How I wish that were true anymore._

Ozpin was shaking his head before Qrow finished speaking. “You speak as though my life is mine at all,” he said. “I gave away that right a long time ago. I gave it away to save everything I loved then, and there’s nothing left for me to give now.”

Qrow’s eyes flashed, his face contorted with anger.

“Your life _is_ yours, Ozpin! You work your ass off every fucking day you’re alive to save a humanity that doesn’t even know you exist. Fucking _let it_ give you something in return. I want to be there with you. For you. Ozpin…I’ll give you whatever you want. Just say it. Oz… Ozma…You don’t have to keep giving everything… each new life… Ozpin’s… let someone else do it once in a while. Let me do it… so the man I lo - ...so Ozpin can have a little longer.”

The rage in his voice died slowly throughout his speech, tapering into desperation, despair.

Ozpin looked away, his heart wrenched at the sight of tears forming in Qrow’s eyes.

“There _is_ no one else,” Ozpin said to the window, his voice bitterer than intended. “I don’t mean to sound dramatic, Qrow, but I’m all there is, and it’s...better that I remember my place – ”

“You’re not!” 

Ozpin flinched at the volume of his voice.

“ _I’m_ here. That is why you started using me in the first place. You needed me, Oz. You still do. So why push me away?”

_Ozpin…are you sure?_

_You can’t convince me, Ozma, that he deserves better than anything I can give him._

“Because my feelings for you are...overwhelming,” Ozpin said aloud. “I can live with many things, Qrow - I can and I do. But being loved by me is a curse, and it makes you a target. There are some things in this world that need to be protected. You’re one of them.”

“I’m already a curse, Oz. I’m already a target.” Qrow sniffled, running the heel of his palm over his eyes.

“That’s not tr – ”

“You can’t protect me, Oz. I’m my own worst enemy. Pushing me away doesn’t make me any safer.” He shook his head, gathering himself back together. “Next argument.”

“This isn’t a debate, Qrow.”

“The fuck it isn’t!”

“With respect,” Ozpin said, “I have every reason to believe you’re otherwise. You may have a streak of bad luck, Qrow, but perhaps the worst of it was my allowing you to get close to me. I spend all of my lives atoning for my sins, and it seems I have added another to my list. You deserve better than what I can give you. You deserve the world. And I’m afraid I’m not truly part of it anymore.”

***

_But no one else wants me._ Qrow crushed his arms against his chest, twisting his writhing internals to immobility.

 _He can’t. He_ can’t.

“You’re all I have…” Qrow’s feeble whisper faltered, his tears bubbling too fast to pretend any longer, so freely they trickled from wet eyelashes, down heated cheeks, taut jawlines, trembling chin. 

Qrow couldn’t recall the last time he cried - he was just a kid, from which old memories fade. But he could remember the smell of dirt after fresh rain, and he’d be damned if he didn’t smell that now. He rubbed his forearms, bumps sprouting despite the heated room, his frantic movements smoothing the whole disaster.

_He can’t… he just… can’t..._

“I’m sorry,” Ozpin said. He didn’t even have the decency to look at Qrow now, his voice still quiet, emotions suppressed with volume. “I...I am to blame for this. I should have put a stop to it some time ago, but I…”

_You what, Oz?_

_You_ wanted _this. You can’t tell me you didn’t._

Ozpin broke off the sentence, taking a long breath. 

“You’re not alone, Qrow. You have your sister, you have Taiyang and Summer. You have friends. You have a _future._ I can’t offer that. All I am is...my past mistakes. And I can’t drown you in those. Not when you have so much to live for.”

_Bullshit._

A bitter laugh, thick with sarcasm cut through the air. “You really think the whole team is just going to band together after graduation and fight evil for the greater good until we all die of old age?” 

A wave of nausea washed over Qrow, the man cradling his head in his hands, then raking tense fingers through his hair wishing he could pull it out along with Ozpin’s head out his ass. “I knew you were in denial, but I didn’t know you were willfully ignorant.”

Ozpin looked surprised for a moment, and then he nodded the expression fading to something broken, all resignation. 

“I suppose not every team will remain together when they leave Beacon,” he said, “but I always hope that they do - that they ‘fight evil’ until they cannot. I’ve staked my lives on it, over and over. But I thank you for reminding me that I have done so in vain.”

Qrow swallowed over a dry throat, surprised his words could wound.

“Then let me fight under you. _For_ you. We can be hopeless together. Tell me what you _need,_ Ozpin.”

“I need,” Ozpin said, “for you to forget about me.” 

Qrow flinched.

_How can you ask that?_

“I need you to live your life _because_ I am unable to do the same. Qrow, I need reasons to remind me why I do what I do, and why I alone need to do them. I can’t...recklessly ask you to throw yourself away for my sake. I don’t have the right to ask for that.”

“You _aren’t_ asking. I’m offering. Live vicariously, whatever. Just. Do it with me. I want that. This. Us. Just…”

_Stop saying no. Keep me. Love me. Please._

“You’re offering something that isn’t mine, and something I am not worthy to have,” Ozpin said, his voice almost a whisper, his brown eyes clouded over, unable to see past his own self-hatred. 

“I am sorry - a broken heart is not what I intended to give you today, but I hope that in time you realize that it came with a freedom that I will never have. That is the best gift I can give you, Qrow – ”

“I don’t want it,” Qrow bit out bitterly. “I want you.” 

Qrow was sure he saw something in Ozpin’s eyes break with that confession. He dropped Qrow’s stare, blinking as though to hold back tears.

“You can do better,” Ozpin murmrued. “And you will.”

_All his lies._

The scent of rain was all but permeating the room now, the last straws of restraint snapping as Qrow glanced at the distant clear skies in the window, his cool gaze settling on Ozpin’s oxfords.

_Our dance lessons._

He lifted his eyes slowly, as though he knew on some level this was his last meeting with Ozpin, as though there was a finality to this moment despite him fighting desperately against it.

_Our snow fights._

Red eyes roamed up Ozpin’s legs, pausing at his belt, the memories of feeling his weight against Ozpin’s hips.

_Our drunk texts._

Higher now, climbing up the buttons of Ozpin’s vest.

_Our sleepless comforting._

The shape of his lips, how they tasted, how they had pressed back against him – 

_Our secrets._

The warm brown eyes, now muted, veiled by the tears Ozpin wouldn’t allow himself to shed.

_He never could say no before._

What had changed?

_He never said no when I touched him._

Deft hands made quick work of the buttons restricting his torso, Qrow’s white chest exposed in less than a blink of the eye, a half breath before he was atop the headmaster, the student resuming his position from their passionate engagement mere nights before.

A touch of their lips and then – 

He didn’t expect the violent pull away from Ozpin, the headmaster backtracking until he was almost on the other side of the desk, looking flushed and alarmed.

“Don’t,” Ozpin said, breathless. “Don’t touch me.”

The words repeated in Qrow’s head again and again until his felt his world splinter, fractured fragments falling from his grasp. The rain suffocated him now, drenching his clothes, his bare chest, drowning him in silence.

_Is he lying to me now, or was all of it a lie?_

He offered Ozpin one last look – his face stone now, deadpan, robbed of everything, everything but the desire to leave and leave _now,_ and so he did, turning to the window that Ozpin always left open for him.

He jumped, letting the air scream past his ears for a second too long before the wings sprouted, and he could escape the room, straining every muscle to get away, to put distance between himself and the man who had just so easily destroyed his world.

***

Ozpin watched the dark shape in the sky fade into blue, the sudden emptiness of the office a blessing and a curse, quiet save for the echoes of the awful conversation he had just had.

For several minutes he stood there, staring at the place in the sky where Qrow had disappeared, squinting to see what he knew was not there, waiting for the return that would not come.

For several minutes, Ozpin stood, blinking at the sunset, as the realization of his actions sank in.

_Gone._

_He’s gone._

It was, of course, what he had wanted – no, what he needed. 

Qrow’s freedom, his life made possible without the weight of Ozpin dragging him down, purchased by something as insignificant as Ozpin’s personal happiness.

He was a soldier, a warrior of the old gods, a man with a mission that spanned beyond some things – simple, impossible things like that.

His lives, his happiness –

Expendable, so long as the world survived, so long as humanity thrived.

Ozpin was a means to an end.

Qrow might still have a chance to be something more than a cog in Ozpin’s machine.

Even if Qrow hated him for it.

It was easier if Qrow hated him, came to loathe his name.

It would keep Ozpin from calling Qrow’s scroll and begging him to come back.

He choked back the tears, turning away from the window, suddenly unable to stand the sight of the school below. He sat in his chair, feeling stripped of purpose, empty, waiting for something that was gone without warning.

Something he had turned away.

The ping from the elevator roused him, and he pushed the access button without confirming his visitor.

He took the next sixty seconds to compose himself, to push back the heavy threat of emotions, the depth of which he had not felt in so long that he was certain would drown him if they broke free. By the time Ferra Agrios stepped off the elevator, he offered her a small smile, the mask he had worn for a dozen lives, and would wear for a dozen more, if it came to that.

“You left the graduation party early even for you,” Ferra said crossly, making her way to the empty chair across from his desk.

The chair that Qrow would no longer sit in.

Ozpin’s eyes prickled again despite his best effort, the _finality_ of the day sinking in like a dead weight in his chest.

“Ozpin.”

He looked up, finding Ferra’s concerned eyes on him.

“Are you all right?”

“I…” Ozpin swallowed. “Yes, thank you, I’m fine. Just a little tired after another year.”

She nodded with the narrowed eyes of one who did not believe him. She glanced about the office, as though she expected Ozpin not to be alone.

“I brought the information regarding next year’s budget,” she said, placing her scroll on his desktop. “I’m sure you’ll want to get started on that as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” he said, watching the files appear on his monitors. “You’re right; I have a lot of work to do.”

It was easier to think about work, to think about the next academic year, the fresh-faced students who would come with unrefined skills in need of mentorship.

Anything not to think of – 

“I’m surprised Branwen isn’t here,” Ferra remarked, as carelessly as someone who did not realize that Ozpin’s entire existence had just cracked from Qrow Branwen’s departure.

The tears were running down his face without warning, without so much as a sound, and he raised a hand to his cheek in numb shock, surprised by how hot they felt to the touch, how quickly one followed another, until his fingers were saturated.

“Ozpin!”

Ferra was on her feet, at his side in an instant, taking his face in her hands, searching his eyes for an explanation.

“He’s gone,” Ozpin whispered. The tears were almost drowning him now, cascading down his chin, pattering softly on his clothing.

“Branwen?” Ferra asked. “He’s…?”

“He’s gone. He’s – ”

Ozpin’s voice cracked and he broke off the repeated syllables.

Ferra’s expression softened into something knowing, something melancholy.

“You turned him down.”

Ozpin could only stare at her helplessly, his eyes leaking incessantly while the rest of him remained unfeeling.

“Oh, you stupid, stupid thing,” Ferra said, and pulled him against her, so tightly that he could hardly breathe, until the pressure broke what was already cracked; he lifted his arms to embrace her, feeling the outpour of hundreds of years of loneliness, and he sobbed.


	20. Epiolgue: Faculty Evaluations

**Faculty Evaluation Questionnaire**

What about the professor and his/her teaching is most and least helpful for your learning?  
Briefly explain.  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

When do you find the professor making him/herself least clearly understood?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

When do you feel most intellectually stimulated by this course?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

When are you clearest about what material ought to be in your notes?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

When are you confused about what material ought to be in your notes?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

When do you feel most convinced that the course is worth your effort?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

When do you feel most certain that the instructor cares whether you succeed in the course?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

When do you most want to discuss the material in this course with your peers?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

With the professor?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

When do you find yourself listening most intently to lecture material in this course?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

Which assignments/class activities are least relevant to course objectives and student needs?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

What challenges are you facing in this class in terms of your learning?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

What suggestions do you have to improve the course?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

What can the professor do better to facilitate your learning?  
_[Student declined to answer.]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading.
> 
> We _do_ promise a happy ending, and we hope you'll follow us there in The Later Years. 💚
> 
> Much love,
> 
> Cocks <3 Clocks
> 
> P.S. If you cannot be polite in the comments, please reconsider commenting at all.


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